


Katabasis

by LadyWallace



Series: Through Flame and Fire (Katabasis Verse) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Sam & Dean, Castiel is in Hell, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Grigori lore, Hurt Castiel, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Leviathans, No Slash, Sam and Dean go to Hell, Season 7 AU, Tortured Castiel, angel wings headcanon, fallen angels mythology, headcanon about Dean's scar, lots of head canon about hell, major Cas whump, major angst, penance and punishment, physical and psychological torture, sam and dean to the rescue, sort of Hell AU but we don't really know so maybe not?, there's adventure too!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11902002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: After Castiel nearly destroyed heaven in his fight against Raphael, the angels decide he needs to serve punishment for his crimes. He must be an example, like Lucifer, to make sure no angels do the like again. So they send him to Hell. It's up to Sam and Dean to get him back. S7 AU No Slash





	1. Apolia

**Author's Note:**

> Okay everyone, prepare yourself for an angst fest.
> 
> This idea just came out of the blue and I wrote this story in like two weeks. This is set in a kinda of AU version of the S6 finale/ S7 opener. It's kind of a mash up of it. Cas hasn't gone full-blown Gostiel, but Sam and Dean still know he's betrayed them, and he goes to put the souls back in Purgatory sooner. There's also no Leviathans-just the power of the souls that is corrupting Cas but he's not totally cracked. And Sam's wall is still broken as you will see, but he hasn't gotten out of the panic room yet. So yeah, kind of confusing mash up of events, it's not hard to follow along with the story though, so I hope you enjoy it ^_^
> 
> There's also A LOT of Greek Mythology and other mythology thrown in, like mythology about fallen angels, and the Grigori which were kinda mentioned in Supernatural in "Angel Heart" but I'm going with the mythology I found on them in this story, so lots of AU mythology stuff going on.
> 
> Anyway, I'll let you read now...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apolia
> 
> (Ruin, Loss, Destruction—Perdition)

Castiel glanced down at his hands with resignation. The sores were breaking out all over his vessel now as the souls he had consumed burned him from the inside. He didn't have much more time left on this earth, but somehow all he could find in himself to do was feel regret.

Regret for betraying the Winchesters as he had, regret for being the cause of a civil war in Heaven, regret for having to kill countless of his brothers and sisters because they had left him no choice. Regret for breaking Sam's wall and sending him into a coma, trapped in his own memories of Hell. Regret for the look on Dean's face; first when he had still been holding onto one scrap of hope that Sam and Bobby were not right about Castiel's betrayal, and then the betrayal itself when the hunter had found out it was all true after all.

Regret that he was even still alive at all.

Castiel had made peace with his death; at this point, after everything he had gone through, everything he had done, he welcomed it.

But not quite yet. He still had to try to fix what he had done, and that started with curing his friend of the ailment he himself had caused.

Flight was difficult. The souls were burning through his true form as well as his vessel, eating up anything he had to offer. But he managed to get to Bobby Singer's house. It was warded against angels, but not all of it was sound and he was able to get in anyway. Bobby was slumped over his desk with a half drunk bottle of whisky, having put himself into a drunken stupor. Castiel didn't see Dean anywhere, but figured he was out in the scrap yard somewhere, drinking his own sorrows away alone, the way he liked best.

As pain at the knowledge that he had caused his dearest friends' suffering ate at his insides like the souls already consuming him, he made his way to the panic room where Sam was lying on the small cot, still but for some minute twitches every once in a while. His eyes roved constantly under his closed lids, dreaming or perhaps simply caught in indescribable memories.

Castiel crouched next to the cot and reached out, touching Sam's forehead and forcing what little power he had left into him, building the crumbled wall back up.

He had intended on coming and going without knowledge, but Sam gasped and his eyes flew open as soon as Castiel had finished the healing. The younger Winchester surged upright into a sitting position, looking around and breathing heavily. Finally his eyes fell on Castiel.

"Cas?" he asked breathlessly, eyes narrowing. "W-What's going on?"

The angel straightened up and held out his hands. "I only came to heal you, Sam," he said.

"I'm not…" Sam began then frowned. "Cas, you look….terrible. What happened?"

"It's…the souls I took on," Castiel told him, glancing down at his corroded hands. "I—I am going to get rid of them now. Put them back into Purgatory. I just…wanted to heal you before I did. And say how sorry I was. For everything."

He turned away then, but Sam pushed himself shakily to his feet and grabbed Castiel's shoulder before he could leave. Castiel winced, Sam's heavy grip digging unknowingly into more lesions on his body.

"Cas, wait," he pleaded, moving so he could look the angel in the eyes. "Let us help you. We can fix this together."

For a moment, Castiel wanted nothing more than what Sam was suggesting. To be able to work with the Winchesters one more time, to be able to fix this. To be able to make up for what he had done…but it was not to be. It would never be the same between them again anyway. Even if Sam was now offering to work with him, Castiel knew in his heart that Dean would never forgive him. He may have been the last to believe that Castiel was truly betraying them, but he would be the last to forgive him too. And Castiel didn't have the time to wait for Dean's apology now. He didn't have the time to stand around here talking either.

"Sam, this whole thing is my mess and mine alone," he told the younger Winchester firmly. "I must fix this myself."

And with that, he shook off Sam's grip and headed toward the door. "Goodbye, Sam," he said, his voice full of all the regret he had been feeling earlier.

He didn't stick around long enough to hear any protests Sam might have had, he just flew outside, reappearing somewhere deep in the scrap yard, moonlight beaming down on him. It was oddly beautiful despite his troubled soul, and he decided that he would enjoy it for a little while. He was lucky, he supposed, to be able to die on a night that was so beautiful.

Of course, he wasn't alone. Dean was sitting on the ground against the side of a beat up old car, a bottle of whisky between his feet, his arms resting across his knees. They both noticed each other at the same time, and by then, it was too late for Castiel to retreat. Of course he could simply disappear, but the weakest part of him, the part that had led him to fall to begin with, wanted to give his friend more than that. After everything, he thought he at least owed Dean a goodbye. Perhaps it would help him to understand why Castiel was doing what he was about to do. Why he had to die. Maybe then, Dean wouldn't take it so hard. Because somehow, Dean would blame himself. Castiel knew he always did, and he would with this too, despite his current anger.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean slurred, not bothering to move his position.

"I didn't come to make trouble, I only came to heal Sam," Castiel told him, trying to keep most of the emotions that were threatening to boil over out of his voice. "He will be fine now. And I just wanted to tell you—"

"Save it," Dean cut in, a bitter tone in his voice as he glanced up to meet Castiel's eyes. "I don't want your apology. It's not gonna fix a thing now. What's done is done, Cas. We're done."

"Dean, I—"

"Consider yourself lucky," Dean continued coldly. "Any other guy who pulled crap like that would be six feet under right now. It's only because we were friends that I'm not sticking an angel blade in your heart right now. So save your apologies, and your excuses. I don't want to hear them." He hauled himself to his feet, staggering slightly as he picked up his bottle.

Castiel swallowed hard. Dean's words hurt more than the angel blade the hunter had threatened him with ever could. But he knew that he deserved them too.

"I understand," he said softly, as Dean began to walk away. He hesitated, wanting to say more, to try to apologize again, but he knew Dean wouldn't care, so he just said, "Goodbye, Dean," and tried to put the apology he couldn't say in those two words.

And then he disappeared.

If he had stayed there another minute, he would have seen Dean turn around at that goodbye, but Castiel was already long gone, trying to make peace with the fact that he would never see his dearest friends again.

~~~~~~~

Cas disappeared. Dean still wished he wouldn't do that, but he should have known. Hell, he had pretty much done his best to make him feel unwelcome, after all, refusing to let him apologize. But still, there had been something about that goodbye…it just seemed so final. Dean had turned, lips parted to say something, anything, that wouldn't come out of his throat. Truthfully, he didn't know what to say. Try to convince Cas to stay? Why would he? Dean had made it clear to the angel that he was no longer wanted. And yet still, Dean found himself unable to just throw away a friendship like that. After all, he had fought countless enemies at Cas' side, and you didn't just give up on someone like that, did you?

Grunting in exasperation, he turned back toward the house. He was still roiling with emotions that he couldn't quite name—well, betrayal came out on top of the list. Part of him wanted to accept Cas back as his friend again—hell, he'd only recently told the angel he was like a brother to him. But then he found out about the lying, the working with Crowley, and after what had happened with Lisa and Ben…Even if Cas hadn't been directly responsible for that, it was still because of him that Crowley had taken them to get Dean out of the way. If they had been killed…Dean never would have forgiven Cas, wouldn't have even considered it. He would have killed him on the spot. Even if he'd also never be able to forgive himself for killing someone he had considered his best friend.

Of course, the fact that the angel had broken Sam's head didn't make it any better.

Sam.

Cas had said he'd come to cure him? Dean wondered if that was true, and started to pick up his pace back toward the house.

He saw for himself a few seconds later when his brother came hurtling around a stack of crushed cars with Bobby hollering somewhere behind him.

"Sammy?!" Dean cried, running a few steps forward, dropping his bottle of whisky, as he grabbed Sam by the shoulders when his brother practically tripped over his own feet. "What the hell?"

"Dean," Sam said, breathlessly, looking around. "Did…did you see Cas?"

Dean frowned. "Uh, yeah, he was here a couple minutes ago, what—"

"Where is he?" Sam asked, his voice holding a frantic note.

"Dude, slow down," Dean demanded, leaning closer to peer into his brother's pupils. They were slightly dilated, but that could just be the dark. "Are you even okay? I mean, you just got vertical, what happened?"

"Cas came and he fixed me," Sam said, a frown between his brows. "Then…he said…he said he was going to 'fix this'—what he did. He said goodbye. Dean, I think…"

"Yeah, me too," Dean agreed instantly without letting Sam finish his thought. But he'd heard the finality in Cas' goodbye as well. A cold feeling was welling up in his gut.

"I think he's gonna do something stupid," Sam insisted.

"I know."

"So, we stop him!" Sam cried, holding his hands out incredulously. "Come on, Dean!"

"It's his mess," Dean said quickly, though without as much fire as he had intended. "If he wants to clean it up, let him."

"Dean," Sam coaxed, shaking his head. "It's Cas. After everything…sure there was bad, but there's been bad blood between us too and you never left me when the stakes were high. We can't leave Cas either."

"He broke your head!"

"He pulled me out of Hell," Sam replied firmly.

"Soulless!"

"But he didn't know! Come on, Dean, are we really gonna let him do this alone? It's Cas!"

Dean looked away, ran a hand wearily down his face, feeling the scrape of stubble along his jaw, before he shook his head. "Okay, fine. But we don't even know where he is."

"Yes we do," Sam said. "I think he's going back to the laboratory he and Crowley did all the spell work in before. They had all the stuff they needed there."

"Sam, you just got on your feet again," Dean protested half-heartedly. "Maybe Bobby and I…"

"I'm coming," Sam said with little room for argument.

Dean clenched his jaw, but finally shook his head. "Fine. Let's get ready then."

He started to turn back to the house, but instead impulsively turned toward his brother and yanked him into a swift embrace. Sam stood, surprised for a moment, then wrapped his arms tightly around Dean as well.

"Glad to have you back, bitch," Dean whispered.

"Glad to be back, jerk."

Dean pulled back with a heavy sigh and forced a small humorless smile. "Now let's go get that other idiot back."

Sam smiled back and nodded.

As they came back to the house, they found Bobby standing on the front porch, arms crossed over his chest.

"What the hell is going on with you boys?" he demanded. "Sam? You okay, or what?"

"Long story, we'll tell it on the road," Sam said.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "We goin' somewhere?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and Bobby heaved a sigh. "Why do I get the feeling that you two idjits are about to do something stupid?"

"Probably because we are," Dean replied.

Bobby sighed again, rolling his eyes. "I'll grab my gear then."

~~~~~~~

Castiel mixed the potion, feeling every minute pass as his heart beat weaker and his grace only fizzled and sputtered all the more. He was fast running out of time. He took the blood mixture to the wall and started painting the sigil. His hands were shaking so much that he hoped it would turn out good enough to work.

Suddenly, a tearing pain through his center folded him in half. He cried out, nearly dropping the jar of blood on the floor. He had to finish this fast. The souls were attacking his grace, tearing him apart from the inside out.

Then came inevitable footsteps running down the hallway toward him. Wearily, Castiel scrambled for his angel blade. He half expected it to be Crowley's demons, but of course, it was the Winchesters and Bobby who burst into the room. At the moment, he wasn't sure which was worse.

"Cas!" Sam cried, coming to a stop, Dean and Bobby close behind him.

Castiel glowered at them, fists clenching. He should have known they would show up, but he couldn't let them stay. Couldn't let them sway him. "You can't be here!" he insisted. "Go!"

"Cas, we just came to help," Sam said, trying to keep his voice reasonable. Castiel didn't have time for reasonable. The souls were about ready to consume him and if the hunters didn't get out of there now, Castiel feared that the blast, if he wasn't able to finish the spell in time, would kill them. Even if he were able to finish the spell, there would still be a blast. Either way, he wasn't coming back from this, but he wasn't going to let his friends die along with him.

"We know you're not planning on walking away," Dean said and Sam shot him a look. The elder brother stepped forward, a hand outstretched. "But, come on, man. You know there's always another way."

"Does that mean you'll accept my apology now?" Castiel asked him blandly.

Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out. Castiel swiftly turned and finished the sigil with shaking hands. "The repercussions of this spell will kill all of you. You have to get out of here."

"Cas, wait," Sam nearly pleaded, stepping forward.

"Go now!" Castiel shouted, pleading. He couldn't stand for his last sight on earth to be watching his friends die. It would accomplish nothing—in fact, it would go against everything he had fought this war for in the first place.

Another wave of agony overtook him and he doubled over, falling to his knees. This time the jar of blood fell from his hand, and shattered. At least he was done with that part.

"Cas," Dean said and stepped forward. He and Sam drew him to his feet, and Castiel panted, shaking, but this was a perfect opportunity.

"I said to leave," he repeated tiredly. "I'm sorry, to both of you. Goodbye."

"Cas, don't—" Dean began, but Castiel had already touched both his and Sam's foreheads, sending them outside the building. The effort of even that, sent him straight to his knees again, panting for breath, sweat beading on his skin, stinging in the open sores all over his body. He looked up at Bobby still standing there.

"Cas, you think about what you're doing here, son," the older hunter said gruffly, cautiously.

Castiel sighed as he pulled himself to his feet again. "I'm doing what needs to be done," he insisted. Why couldn't they just see that? "Go, Bobby. They'll need a level head, you know that."

The older hunter gave him a long look, then turned and left.

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could finally finish this.

He grabbed the piece of paper with the spell written on it and started chanting. He almost couldn't get the words out as the portal started to open up, the wall cracking as it opened into another dimension.

He spat out the last words of the spell and suddenly, it felt like a lightning bolt ripped from his chest as the souls poured from his vessel, back into Purgatory where they belonged. He screamed, maybe in pain, maybe in some sort of defiance, but it didn't really matter. Because after a fraction of a second his world exploded into blinding light.

~~~~~~~

Dean didn't quite know what happened at first, all he knew was that one minute he was crouching beside Cas and the next, he was standing outside the building with Sam.

And then he knew exactly what had happened; the memory of Cas' fevered fingers touching his forehead a fraction of a second before it all went screwy.

"Son of a bitch," he ground out as he heard Sam curse under his breath.

Dean instantly surged forward, prepared to go back into the place and stop Cas if it was the last thing he did, but Sam grabbed his arm.

"Dean, wait."

"Wait?" Dean demanded, spinning around toward his brother. "You're the one who wanted to come here! Don't you tell me to wait! Cas is in there and he's gonna die!" What Dean didn't add to that was Cas was gonna die without Dean forgiving him.

Sam's expression was pained. "But Dean, think about it. If this is the only way…you saw him, man, his vessel is falling apart. The least we can do is carry on whatever fight comes next."

Dean just shook his head and marched off toward the building again anyway. "You can. You and Bobby. But you dragged me out here, and I'm not gonna let that idiot die alone."

"Dean!" Sam cried.

Just then, Bobby slammed out the door at a run, hurrying toward the brothers.

"Get out of here!" he demanded. "Dean, go!"

Dean opened his mouth to protest again, but that was when an explosion ripped through the building. Windows blew out with a bright light. It nearly sent the hunters to the ground, but somehow they all managed to keep their feet.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. As soon as the blast receded, Dean was surging forward, ignoring the cries of Sam and Bobby behind him.

~~~~~~~

Castiel took a shuddering breath and blinked his eyes open. The first thing he thought was that death looked an awful lot like the laboratory he had been in previously. Then he felt the pain, and realized that death should have no pain. Especially not for angels who weren't supposed to have any life after death anyway.

He was alive.

He was alive?

He was alive. An odd relief seeped through him. Maybe his mission wasn't over after all. Maybe now he could truly repair things up in Heaven, with the Winchesters. Maybe…maybe Dean would even forgive him eventually.

But more lights flashed, and he heard the flap of wings. He looked around to see three angels standing over him.

"Br-brothers? W-what are you doing here?" he forced from his raw throat.

The three angels wasted no time in hauling him to his feet. Castiel cried out as pain ripped through his abused body, and he could hardly find the strength to protest as they yanked his coat and tie from him, tearing the coat into small pieces and scattering them around the room. Manacles with Enochian sigils were clamped around his wrists. Not that he needed them with how weak he already was.

"What are you doing?" he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

But one of the angels, who he recognized as Anias, answered, "Castiel, you have been tried and found guilty by the courts of Heaven. You will be subjected to the punishment most fitting for your crimes."

Castiel frowned. He was barely conscious, but something about this didn't seem right. "Tr-trial?" he inquired. "I didn't have a trial."

"The trial was concluded this morning," another angel said. "There was no reason for you to be there. No defense you could give would have changed anything. You have committed crimes against Heaven and your kin, and you will be punished for it."

Castiel felt fear seep into him. He didn't like the vague terms the angels were using. Usually, they would be a lot more explicit in a case like this. Of course, he was laboring under no delusions. Death would be his ultimate end, no matter what came before—and Castiel was sure that there would be a before.

But even after everything he had been through already, heaven's re-education and all, he had never truly expected what was to come.

~~~~~~~

"Cas!" Dean cried as he shoved through the door to the lab. He stopped short as he saw the place blown to bits.

And bits were all that was left. At first Dean felt a small tendril of hope wash over him as he didn't see Cas' body lying on the floor, but then he started looking at the bits a little closer.

"Dean!" Sam and Bobby skidded to a halt inside the door as Dean bent to retrieve a torn sleeve from a tan trench coat. His throat closed and he felt bile rising up from his stomach.

"Oh god," Sam breathed, clenching a hand in his hair as he looked around.

"Dammit," Bobby muttered, but there was sorrow in his voice too.

Dean didn't even register any of that. He bent and carefully picked up Cas' angel blade, seeing blood spattered on the hilt and knowing that his friend was gone now for good.

It was everything he could do to stay on his feet. He barely registered Sam's hand on his shoulder as they led him back outside. There was nothing else they could do here.

~~~~~~~

Castiel was disoriented by the flight, being pulled along by Anias as the three angels escorted him to wherever they were going. He thought they would take him to Heaven, but when his vision cleared and they exited the ether, he saw they were nowhere near Heaven. In fact they were still on earth, standing in front of a cliff face.

"Where are we?" he asked wearily.

It was then that a portal opened in the cliff face and two demons emerged. Castiel's breath caught in his throat, wishing he had his angel blade with him. He glanced between the other angels, but didn't see alarm or disgust on their faces, just steely determination.

"We're ready for you to detain the prisoner," Anias said, yanking Castiel forward so hard he nearly stumbled.

"Anias," Castiel tried. "What are you doing?"

"Please, Castiel," Anias said with disdain. "You know well enough what happens to wicked, fallen angels. They go to the darkest depths of Hell."

Castiel's heart froze in his chest and his legs nearly gave out as the two demons took him, one on each arm. "No. No please. Brother, you can't—"

"You are not my brother, Castiel," Anias said with such surety, that Castiel choked. "You are no longer a brother of Heaven at all. You are only Fallen. Officially, you are dead."

"Don't do this," Castiel pleaded one last time.

But no sympathy came. The demons yanked him forward again and Castiel was forced to obey, dragged closer and closer to the rift, until they entered the Gate of Hell and Castiel knew that once that happened, there was no turning back.

As Anias had said, he was as good as dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will update every Monday and Friday


	2. Acheron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acheron
> 
> (The river of pain and woe)

There was a part of Hell, deeper, darker, and so far into the nether reaches that even few of its denizens have seen it in person. It was the place that the most wicked and depraved souls were sent.

It was also the place where fallen angels were kept.

Lucifer's Cage was kept there but there were deeper, darker places, where other, older things, were sequestered.

Castiel had been to this area of Hell before, just recently to rescue Sam, and it had not been an easy journey then, but knowing that he was to be interred here, and at the will of his own brethren…every hope he had felt at surviving the spell to put the souls back in Purgatory came crashing down. No one got out of this part of Hell. Even the demons who dragged Castiel along with them were wary.

Lightening flashed in the darkness every few seconds, casting monstrous shadows on the rocky walls of the narrow strait they were walking through. Castiel could feel the oppression, the dismal evil of the place and could barely get a breath. He wished the terror wasn't so ready to consume him, but he was honestly terrified.

He was also consumed with sorrow for never being able to make it up to Dean and Sam now. There would be no more chances for apologies or making up. At least he had been able to fix his own mess, though; he hadn't left them to deal with it.

The two cliff faces they were walking through narrowed so much that they had to go single file, Castiel between the two demons, before they came out into a dark room. Castiel looked around, lightning flashed again high overhead, casting more shadows around the place. There was the red glow from several fire braziers and torches. He swallowed hard as he also saw a rack…a rack meant for him.

"Welcome to your new home, angel," one of the demons sneered, shoving him forward roughly. "You won't be leaving here any time soon."

"Is this the new prisoner?"

Castiel felt a chill go up his spine as he turned toward the sound of the voice. It was both soft and gravelly, firm, but slightly sibilant. It was the kind of voice that could so easily get under one's skin, and Castiel couldn't help the effect it had on him, especially in this setting.

A shadow shifted in the dark corner of the room. A shuffling sound, with the slight jingle of chains followed as the shadow broke from its fellows and stepped into the light.

Castiel's breath caught in his throat as he was faced with this new presence. When light finally fell on the figure, Castiel was actually surprised to see it had human form, not some grotesque creature secreted down in the shadowy depths. But this made it worse in many ways. The man—or what looked to be a man—had long dark hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, and a scarred face. He wore a leather breastplate and trousers with copious dark stains, and a belt with a blade hanging at his hip.

But as Castiel looked closer, he saw more scars covering every exposed inch of skin, and Enochian sigils that seemed to have been either carved of branded into his flesh where there weren't just scars. Castiel had never seen anything quite like this; who was this creature? What was he?

Then he saw the dark shapes dragging behind the man. At first, he had taken it to be some elaborate cloak, but then Castiel began to make out feathers, ragged, burned, completely destroyed, and recognized the shapes for what they were.

Wings.

This was an angel.

"This is your new pet," one of the demons said, but Castiel could detect a waver in his voice. Even the demons were nervous.

The angel stepped forward, looking Castiel up and down. "There is not much left of this one," he said, some disdain in his voice.

"We just follow orders," the demon said quickly. "We were told to bring him to you."

Another look. "I will have to make do then."

The demons took that as a cue to leave and beat a hasty retreat. Castiel was now left alone with this scarred angel who was still staring at him as if trying to size him up, see into his mind.

"What is your name, angel?" he asked.

Castiel swallowed hard. He wanted to refuse to answer, but there was really no point. "Castiel," he said after a pause, sounding defeated even to his own ears. But the truth was Castiel was nothing. Castiel was dead. He had no pride in being himself.

"Castiel," the angel said, as if testing the name on his tongue. "What are your crimes then, Castiel?"

Castiel's head dipped between his shoulders. "Doing the right thing."

The angel stepped forward and swiftly gripped Castiel's chin, raising his eyes to meet his own. Castiel stared into the depths of the other angel's eyes for only a second and saw nothing but darkness. Whatever grace this angel had left was so corrupted it was practically demonic.

"No, I don't believe that," the angel said firmly, as if angry that he thought Castiel was lying to him. "What was it, Castiel? Pride? Defiance? Humanity?"

That last one struck a cord. Castiel lowered his eyes. Yes, it had been, in a lot of ways. But were they not meant to watch over the humans? Why then should he stand by and watch Lucifer, or Raphael, destroy them?

"Ah," the angel said, sounding pleased. "So love of humanity was your crime. I should have guessed. Why else would they send you down here?"

Castiel felt anger rise in him, and looked up at the angel, glowering slightly. "I do not think it is a crime to protect or appreciate humans. After all, are they not our Father's creations?"

"Oh, believe me, I know the charms of humanity. That was my crime as well."

Feeling bolder, Castiel asked, "Who are you?"

The angel gave him a long look before replying. "I am Samyaza."

Castiel's eyes widened. He was a Grigori! Once the Watchers of Earth, before they fell and joined with Lucifer. Castiel knew the name Samyaza well, for he had been a cautionary tale. The leader of the Grigori, he and his followers, the ones that had not been killed outright, had been sent to the darkest reaches of Hell with Lucifer, forced to endure horrific torment. Now the scars and the ruined wings made sense. Castiel felt sick. This was to be his fate as well.

"You know me," Samyaza stated.

"Yes, but…"

"But why am I here?" the Grigori filled in. "Why am I not still enduring mindless torment? Because, Castiel, certain demons are willing to offer the same deal to angels as they do humans. I picked up the blade."

Castiel felt a bone deep coldness seep through him. Memories of when he had found Dean came back to him and he fought to shove them away. Samyaza was stepping toward him again, leaning over to speak quietly in Castiel's ear. "Perhaps someday, I will make you the same offer."

Castiel pulled away as Samyaza strode past him. Castiel turned to watch him, and a gasp caught in his throat as he saw the angel's back.

His wings were worse off than Castiel had noticed before, but now that he could see them fully, he detected the metal rings pierced through them, probably through both flesh and bone, and the chains crisscrossing over both wings, binding them tightly against any movement. It looked excruciating.

Just the thought of that happening to him made Castiel feel faint. Samyaza turned back to him, cocking his head to one side.

"Shall we get started, Castiel?" he inquired.

Castiel sank to his knees and let out a soundless sob.

~~~~~~~

The first week was rough. Dean wasn't sure whether he was more overcome with grief at losing his best friend, or guilt at everything he had said to Cas leading up to that point. Probably a mixture of both. There was the initial shock, of course, and the denial. Hell, he'd seen Cas die before and it hadn't taken, so part of him was still just waiting for Cas to walk through the door, perfectly fine again.

But of course that wasn't going to be the case this time. Something about this had seemed different. And there had been the bits of Cas' trench coat scattered all over that lab…

Just conjuring the image again made Dean nearly vomit. Deep down, though, he knew what bothered him most about this time, was that he'd had a chance to stop it, time to talk Cas down, and he'd been unable to. He couldn't help but blame himself. He couldn't help but think that if he'd taken the time, talked to Cas and really figured out where he was coming from with the whole Crowley thing—let the guy apologize, and accept that apology—he might have been able to get Cas to figure out another way. Or at least make him want to survive it. He should have seen how suicidal Cas had been, but of course he'd been too angry to care.

So really, it was all Dean's fault the best friend he'd ever had was dead.

After the shock and denial, Dean simply became unapproachable. He spent most of his time sitting on Bobby's couch with the TV on for background noise, drinking; sometimes checking news reports, but mostly drinking. When he wasn't doing that, he was out fixing the Impala. He was still working on her after the whole incident where the demons crashed into her. He was almost glad. It gave him something to do with his hands, something to occupy him, and that was what he needed most right now.

Of course, it wasn't enough. Dean knew he wasn't okay. He was slipping away, drawing more and more aside from Sam and Bobby who both tiptoed around him. Dean saw Sam's looks, pained, unsure of what to do as he watched his older descend into his pit of grief and guilt. Part of Dean knew he should talk to Sam about what had happened. He knew his brother was suffering too. Cas hadn't just been Dean's friend, after all. But Dean could never bring himself to do it. He couldn't be there for Sam in that capacity right now. He couldn't even handle his own emotions, how the hell was he supposed to help anyone else?

So he continued doing what he usually did in these circumstances; drinking, avoiding any emotional conversations, and simply waiting for the inevitable moment he finally snapped.

But in the end, it wouldn't really matter. Nothing was going to bring Cas back.

~~~~~~~

Castiel had thought he understood agony. He had been wounded on multiple occasions, been subjected to pain countless times, even been tortured before, both by enemies and as a punishment doled out in Heaven. But none of that was anything compared to his experience now in Hell.

Samyaza was very proficient at his job. He was emotionless and effective, carving into him in ways that Castiel had never thought possible. He wasn't sure if the Grigori's clinical approach made it better or worse, but somehow he just seemed to know how to hurt Castiel the most, breaking him down slowly and methodically.

In fact, the first few sessions, Samyaza didn't speak at all, his silence answered only by Castiel's screams. It was only when he came on what Castiel thought was the fifth day—but then, time was different down here, making it seem so much longer—that he even said a word. Before he had just been an instrument of pain, of punishment—penance—to Castiel. Now he seemed to take an interest in his psychological state. Castiel wasn't sure he was grateful.

"How are you feeling, Castiel?" the Grigori asked.

Castiel gave him a look, which the other angel returned with a shrug. "Are you penitent yet?"

Castiel rolled his head to one side as Samyaza strode toward the table that held all his instruments. "Would it matter if I were?" Castiel croaked, voice already wrecked from screaming.

"No," the Grigori replied truthfully. "You haven't been here nearly long enough. You might be a defiant one, I can see a certain fire in you, especially in the way you defend your sins, as if you truly believed you were doing the right thing." His eyes slid over Castiel's abused body. "But of course, I think there's also a part of you that believes you truly deserve this, so maybe you will never ask for it to stop."

Castiel looked away, not wanting to admit that there was some truth to what Samyaza said. There was no doubt that he deserved this. After the countless angels he had killed—and Balthazar most recently, one of his dearest brothers and comrades, who had stayed beside him when he should have run…Castiel would never let the image of his dead body leave him. The countless other horrible things he had done—breaking Sam's wall, how he had betrayed the only real friends he had left…oh yes, Castiel deserved every cut and burn and break that Samyaza decided to inflict upon him.

"Ah, so I was right again," the Grigori said, neither cruel nor satisfied, just stating the obvious. He stepped over to the rack then. It was tilted slightly, and he began to unlock the manacles around Castiel's wrists and ankles.

Castiel was slightly surprised, but didn't think this meant anything good was coming either. He slid to the ground, collapsing onto his knees as he felt his body sing with pain, his hands pressed into the ground covered in ash and blood to keep himself upright.

Samyaza leaned close to Castiel's ear. "I can help you with your penance, Castiel. I can help you atone."

Castiel closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, head hanging between his shoulders. Just because he thought he deserved this, didn't mean he wanted more pain. He wished, for the thousandth time since he'd been cast down here, that he had died in the blast from the souls. He had sent so many prayers to his absent Father, pleading, begging to know why he hadn't simply died? And then he'd felt even worse, because the answer was obvious.

Death was too good for the likes of him.

"Oh, Castiel," Samyaza sighed deeply, almost wearily. "I see you are still defiant, but you need so badly to find a way to atone. Just let me help you."

Castiel shook his head once, eyes still closed. Samyaza's hand was on his chin, tilting his head back to look up at him.

"Before we can continue, I need you to do something for me, a way for you to truly atone," he said. "Show me your wings, Castiel."

Terror flowed through Castiel as the image of Samayza's own wings flashed through his mind. "No," he said frantically. "Please…"

"Castiel," the Grigori persuaded firmly. "Do not make this harder than it is."

"I can't," Castiel pleaded. "I won't."

Samyaza crouched in front of him then at eye level. "It's for the best, believe me," he said softly. "It is easier to know that there is no escape. It is better to just give in. This will make it easier to focus your mind on your penance."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm not in the habit of giving in," he forced out.

"I know," the Grigori replied. "But you will learn, and this is where those lessons start. So show me your wings, Castiel."

He had known it would come to this eventually, known as soon as he had seen Samyaza's own wings, but the idea of it, the thought that he should give himself over to such torment voluntarily, made him sick to his stomach.

Especially when he realized that he truly deserved no better.

Before he realized it, tears were streaming down his face, making tracks through the blood on his skin, falling to the ground between his knees and creating patterns in the blood spilled there.

"That's better," Samyaza said. "You see now, don't you? Believe me, Castiel, this is a very important first step into earning your redemption. You, this body of yours, is worth nothing anymore. It is only a tool in which to help you serve your penance. You have to earn your right to your own flesh back through the pain that will cleanse you." He straightened up so he was standing over Castiel once again. "So show them to me, Castiel."

Castiel hesitated a long minute, and then with a defeated, gut-wrenching sob, he did as he was asked.

And then he discovered that the agony he had gone through before had only been the beginning.

~~~~~~~

It was nearly a week after Cas' death that Dean had the first nightmare.

He'd fallen into a drunken stupor on the couch sometime late at night after both Sam and Bobby had gone off to bed, casting him their typical concerned glances. Dean had come to ignore them like everything else.

The first nightmare wasn't even that long. First Dean saw darkness, then a shadowy atmosphere filled with flashes of red lightening, that looked all too much like Hell, and then a figure appeared strapped to a rack, screaming in agony. At first Dean didn't recognize who it was. He had dreams like this all the time, after all, dreams of what he had done in Hell, of what Alastair had done to him. But this was different. He wasn't directly in the dream, it was almost as if he were watching it happen as an observer and as his vision was brought closer to the figure, he looked past the blood and the wounds, to the victim's face.

The man's eyes opened, a shocking, familiar blue and Dean finally realized that it was Cas on that rack.

A figure stepped out of the shadows, and Dean half expected it to be himself or Alastair, or even Lucifer, but it wasn't anyone he had seen before. He only got a very brief glimpse of the new figure in a flash of lightning, but he definitely thought he saw wings resting against the figure's back.

Dean gasped awake, sitting upright, panting heavily. He reached for the bottle of whisky he'd fallen asleep drinking, but found it was empty and gave up with a heavy sigh.

That was a really strange dream. Sure, it was to be expected. For the last few nights, whenever he'd had the misfortune to close his eyes, all he could see was Cas blown to pieces, hear the repeat of the last few conversations they'd had. But this…this had just felt…different. He didn't really know how to explain it, but something didn't seem right about this nightmare.

Of course, that could be because he was doing his best to drink himself to death.

Either way, there was no way he was sleeping again that night. He got up and went out to the garage to work on the Impala again. But nothing he could do could make him forget the look of agony in Cas' eyes, and the odd, winged stranger there with him.

A couple nights later, he had another one, but this one was even worse.

The dream started about the same as the last one, but this time, Cas was on his knees, and holy crap, he had wings!

But Dean suddenly realized what was wrong with the picture. One of Cas' wings was suspended from chains. There were rings buried in the feathers, attached to hooks that ascended into the darkness above. Dean watched in horror as the same unknown figure from the last dream walked behind Cas, taking his right wing which wasn't yet chained up, and gripping it firmly with one hand. In his other hand was a large clamp, a red-hot ring held in it. Dean cried out involuntarily, knowing what would happen before it did. The other angel—if that was what he was—forced the ring around the top arch of Cas' wing, and then used the clamp to close the ring through both flesh and bone.

The scream that came from Cas was probably the worst sound Dean had ever heard, and that was after a long stay in Hell himself. He watched in horror as the other angel took up another glowing ring from a nearby brazier and repeated the process. Dean yelled this time too, but his own shout was soon overcome with another of Cas' screams of agony.

"Dean!"

Dean jolted awake to someone shaking him. He cried out, sitting up so fast he nearly fell off the couch. Sam stood over him, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you okay? You were… screaming in your sleep," Sam said.

Dean glowered up at him and folded a hand over his left shoulder, which was aching. Sam didn't have to hit him that hard to wake him up, did he? "I'm fine," he grunted.

Sam gave him a bitchface but it was mostly ruined by concern. "Look, Dean, I know you don't want to talk about this, but..."

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Dean told him and stood up, pushing past his brother to head toward the bathroom.

"I miss him too, Dean," Sam called after him softly.

Dean felt his throat tighten and answered his brother by slamming the bathroom door.

Once he was alone, he winced at the burning sensation in his left shoulder that had been going on since he had woken up and was only now starting to dissipate. He frowned and yanked up the sleeve of his t-shirt to see if he'd suffered some kind of injury while he was in the throws of a nightmare.

But all that was there was the handprint scar that Cas had left on him when he'd pulled him out of Hell. Dean's frown deepened as he realized that the pain was coming directly from the scar itself, now more of a tingling sensation. Okay, that was really weird.

Come to think of it, this whole thing with the nightmares was weird. After all, why would Cas be in Hell? Angels didn't have souls, so they didn't really go anywhere after death, right? And even if they did, despite everything, wouldn't Cas still go to Heaven? He had sacrificed himself to save the world—again—even if he had gone about it in the total wrong direction. That had to count for something, though, right?

Unless there was another option there that Dean wasn't considering. He simultaneously wanted to consider it, and hated himself for even thinking of the possibility.

Because Cas was dead. He was gone, and there was nothing Dean could do about it.

Right?

But after several more nights with continuations of the same series of nightmares, visiting a new torment on Cas each time, Dean woke the same way. A burning pain in the handprint scar, sometimes even psychic pain in places he had seen Cas injured. Usually with an ache between his shoulder blades as he imagined Cas feeling with his wings chained up as they were. There were other sensations too, the ashy air he remembered from his own time in hell, the smell of blood, and worse, burned feathers…

It was just all too vivid, and all too consistent for Dean not to think something was going on. Now he was beginning to truly think of the possibilities. Because maybe…just maybe…Cas was still alive, and maybe he was being tortured in Hell. Dean wasn't entirely sure why, but he knew one thing. If Cas was still alive, then he was truly in trouble, and Dean couldn't quite let himself ignore that.

So, it seemed like it was time to finally talk to Sam and Bobby again.

He approached them the next morning at breakfast when they both came downstairs, looking like they'd gotten a terrible night of sleep and were shocked to see Dean actually cooking at the stove.

"Um, good morning," Sam said almost cautiously.

Dean caught him and Bobby sharing a glance, as he turned around and grabbed some plates. "Just thought I'd make breakfast," he said curtly, as he dished eggs and bacon up onto three plates. "Coffee's in the pot."

"Dean," Sam said with a sigh. "What is this?"

"Breakfast," Dean said shortly.

"Yeah, and you haven't eaten with us for days," Sam said. "I've practically had to shove food down your throat. What's going on?"

Dean took his time distributing the plates and sitting down with his own coffee before he looked up at Sam and Bobby. He took a deep breath and figured the best way to say this was just to say it. "I don't think Cas is dead."

Sam glanced down at his plate, jaw tightening, and Bobby gave an indiscernible look. "Dean, son," he finally said in a forced patient manner. "I know this has hit you hard; you just lost one of the best friends you've ever had, I get that, and I get how it's hard to think about never seeing him again, but this—"

Dean slammed his fork down on the table. "Don't patronize me, Bobby! This isn't just me wishing upon a friggin' star here! I think something really wrong is going on."

"Dean," Sam cut in gently. "I know we didn't see Cas'…body…but, there was enough evidence…"

"We saw his coat ripped to pieces, but the other times he's been exploded there's been bits of him everywhere too!" Sam winced and Dean swallowed hard. "And that's not all. I've been having these…dreams." He rubbed a hand against the scar as he said it. It wasn't hurting anymore, but the memory of how it had felt when he'd woken that morning was still raw.

"What do you mean, dreams?" Bobby asked, glancing sideways at Sam. "I thought he was the psychic wonder."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the older hunter as Dean shook his head. "No it's not like that. These are…I don't know how to explain it. It's like when I'm asleep, I'm tapping into some subconscious feed or something. Like, not premonitions, but real time. And I'm seeing Cas, in Hell, getting tortured by this angel I've never seen before!"

Sam and Bobby exchanged another look, incredulous expressions on their faces.

"Wait, why would Cas be in Hell?" Sam asked. "Angels don't have afterlives, good or bad, do they?"

"No, that's the point," Dean said. "I think he survived the soul transfer and someone dragged him back there. Maybe Crowley, since he can't exactly be happy with Cas after he screwed him over."

"But how are you sure this isn't just your mind coming up with stuff?" Bobby asked. "I mean, trauma will do that."

"Because these aren't like my usual Hell dreams," Dean said firmly. "These are different, more vivid, and I'm…I'm not…in them, I'm just observing. And then, well, this is where it gets even weirder." He shrugged the sleeve of his flannel off his left shoulder and pulled up his t-shirt to reveal the scar. "Every time I wake up, this is burning. I've never felt anything from this thing before."

Sam's eyes widened and he looked at Bobby. "That…is kinda weird." A mixture of emotions washed over his face, interest, deep thought, and a small touch of hope. "What if…what if Dean's right, Bobby. I mean, Cas said something before about laying claim to souls, maybe he had to do that to Dean to get him out of Hell, which is why it left a scar—and… why I don't have one. But maybe there is a subconscious connection going on because of that. If Cas is still alive…it might be his way of calling for help."

"He is, I'm sure of it now," Dean said, and saying those words out loud felt like a burden had been lifted from him. He realized then that he'd truly known something was off about this situation all along.

"But what the hell do you plan to do, boy?" Bobby asked. "I mean, it's Hell."

"There's only one thing we can do," Dean said firmly, glancing between Sam and Bobby with determination. "We've gotta get him out."


	3. Sygkakopatheo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sygkakopatheo
> 
> (To share in another's suffering)

"Are you insane?" Bobby demanded. "You can't just walk into Hell and get someone out!"

"Cas did it. Twice!" Dean protested.

"Yeah, but Cas is an angel! You idjits won't last three minutes there as living human beings!"

"Then we'll find a way!" Dean shouted, already finished with this conversation.

"Actually," Sam spoke up, and Dean was ready for more protests, but the look on his brother's face was actually more thoughtful than anything. "There are a ton of stories about people who have gotten into the underworld. I mean, they're all myth, but as we've found on multiple occasions, there's a lot of times some truth to that. I think we should start looking."

So they hit the books. They pulled out anything Bobby had on Hell and the underworld from any culture they could find. Dean excused himself for a moment before they began to make a fresh pot of coffee. Sam found him in the kitchen as he was watching the pot, a stack of books piled in his arms.

"Hey, Dean," he said softly and Dean looked up at him, refraining from sighing as he saw that Sam obviously intended for them to talk.

"Yeah?" he grunted.

Sam set the stack of books down on the table. "Look, I just want you to know that I believe you, and I'm with you all the way with this. I mean, Cas is my best friend too—he's family. Even after everything he's done, but this may not…we may not even be able to do this."

"Then we'll figure out another way," Dean said. "Call in another favor with Death maybe, force a demon to help us, I don't know, but I do know one thing: I'm not leaving Cas down there. You didn't see, Sammy, you didn't see what's happening to him." He swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat as he quickly turned back to the burbling coffee pot.

"Dean, I may not remember what I went through in the Cage, but…I know what Hell does. I've seen in it your eyes. I know Cas is suffering, and I know we'll do our best to get him back." Dean felt the but coming, and braced himself for it. "But I want to make sure you're doing this for the right reasons."

Dean whipped around to face him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Sam shifted slightly, jaw clenched as he thought about how to continue. "What I mean is, are you doing this because you want to get Cas back—and don't take this the wrong way, I know that's obvious, trust me—but are you also doing this because you feel guilty? Because I know you, Dean, and I can see it written all over you."

Dean clenched his fist, setting it down heavily on the countertop. "What do you think?" he demanded. "Of course I'm feeling guilty, Sam. That's part of my character. And whatever Cas did, he still didn't deserve…I should have accepted his apology. I knew he was gonna die anyway, why the hell didn't I…" He broke off and turned around again, slamming open a cupboard to grab more coffee cups.

He heard Sam's sigh behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, but didn't shake it off.

"Dean, we've both done poorly by Cas. Trust me, you're not alone with the blame, okay? But if we're going to do this, if we're actually going to rescue Cas from Hell, then we need to shed this guilt. We can't let that drive us, because if that's all there is, we're not gonna get anywhere. Look, if we can do this, we have an opportunity to start over, the three of us, and make sure we tell Cas how important he really is to our family, make sure he feels like he belongs so he won't feel like he has to hide things from us again. But if we go after him because we feel guilty, it's not gonna change anything. If we go because we truly want him back, because he's our friend, our brother, and we love him, then I truly believe that will make all the difference."

Dean finally turned to face his brother, seeing the earnest look in his hazel eyes. He took a deep breath, running a hand over his face. "You're right. I'll…do my best."

Sam forced a small smile and clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Come on then, let's get to work."

Hours later, after they had almost gone through Bobby's supply of coffee, and their eyes were all sticky and red from long hours scanning small text, they'd compiled a ton of information, but whether any of it would prove useful still remained to be seen.

"There's a bunch of accounts, especially in Greek mythology, about people who have traveled to the underworld," Sam said tiredly, looking over the notes he had made. "Hercules did on multiple occasions to rescue people carted off there, then there's the account of Orpheus who traveled to the underworld to retrieve his wife who was bitten by a deadly snake on their wedding day. Apparently, he used his lyre to put the guardians of the underworld to sleep so he could make his way through." Sam set down the book he was reading, a thoughtful look on his face. "I wonder if there would be some artifact like Orpheus' lyre that could help us get down there."

"Well, that's all good and fine in theory, but how we'd go about finding anything of the sort is another matter," Bobby muttered as he closed another book. "It was one thing to ask Cas to go look for stuff like that for us, but we'd have no idea where to even start."

"I hate to say this, but…maybe we should consider asking Crowley," Sam said hesitantly.

"No way," Dean shook his head. "You think Crowley's just gonna give us something to get into Hell with? Not to mention the fact that he'd want to know why, and we'd have to tell him about Cas—if he's not the one who put him there in the first place! No we'll find another way." A thought popped into his head as he picked up another book. "You know, maybe we need to think closer to home on this," he mused.

"Meaning?" Bobby raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we opened that devil's gate in Wyoming with the Colt, right?"

"Which we don't have," Bobby said blandly.

"Yeah, but that's not the only devil's gate there is, is it?" Dean asked, getting up from his seat, and grabbing his father's journal off of a nearby table. "Dad actually wrote about several possible entrances to Hell."

"Most of those are just urban legend," Sam said.

"Not all of them, though," Dean insisted, flipping through. "Point is, if we can find a legitimate hellgate, all we need then is to find out how to unlock it."

"Well, the hellgate in Wyoming was made by Samuel Colt and the hunters of his day," Sam said. "That one was special, and he took precautions to make sure it was as secure as possible. The others might not be so easy to find, or so easy to open."

"But what you idjits are really forgetting, is that it's not about getting into the underworld that's hard, it's getting out," Bobby said. "Take Orpheus' story, for example. Hades might have allowed him to take his wife back, but only under the condition that she wouldn't look back on her journey, and she did. There's always a catch in these stories."

"What about Hermes, though?" Sam inquired. "He was one of the few gods who was able to travel to and from the underworld unhindered. He was also the one who led the souls of the dying there."

"I thought that was the boat dude's job?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "Charon ferried the dead to the proper locations once they were in the underworld, but it was Hermes who got them there in the first place."

Dean glanced at the book Sam had set on Bobby's desk where there was a picture of a blond guy in a short toga carrying a golden stick with wings at the top and two snakes winding up the pole.

"Hang on a minute," Bobby muttered suddenly as he took the book and looked closer at the picture. "Balls. I can't believe I didn't realize that before."

"Realize what, Bobby?" Dean asked eagerly, hoping the older hunter might have something.

Bobby shook his head. "Years ago, when Rufus and I were overseas we worked this case in Greece with a ring of thieves and a whole lotta weird. Long story short, we ended up with some of the artifacts that had been stolen from an ancient storeroom or something. We'd contained a few that were cursed objects responsible for all the crazy and put them away safely, but decided to grab the rest of the stuff too just to be on the safe side. One of the items was pretty much a perfect golden replica of the caduceus that Hermes carries."

Dean shared a look with Sam before they both turned back to Bobby. "You sure it was a replica?" Dean asked. "I mean, we know the Greek gods actually exist, what if it's his actual kazu—snake staff thingy?"

"Well, it's probably not likely…"

"But what if it is?" Sam insisted earnestly. "Bobby, the caduceus could get us in and out of any hellgate we find!"

"Hermes was a god and he only ferried the dead," Bobby cautioned. "There's no guarantee it will work on you."

"You see any other options?" Dean said. "We've got to at least give it a shot. You do still have it, right?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Of course, I do, it's in one of Rufus' old lock ups. I think I still have the address somewhere."

Dean was already on his feet. "Let's go grab it, then."

He instantly felt a million pounds lighter. This was the first step in launching Cas' rescue.

He just hoped that it would actually work.

~~~~~~~

Castiel screamed hoarsely and arched his spine as Samyaza shoved the hot brand against the small of his back. Once it was pulled away, he slumped in his chains, head hanging low toward his chest. It was everything he could do just to stay on his knees anymore, but if he tried to collapse further, the chains attached to his wings would pull and cause him even more excruciating agony. He shifted again with a whimper, trying to put more of his weight on his arms instead, but his wrists, which were also held by chains, were aching, and bleeding from the manacles, and his shoulders screamed from holding this position for so long. He knew this position was meant to cause discomfort on purpose, but he had been given no relief. Samyaza had seemed to think he was better off on his knees. All part of his penance, most likely.

"You are suffering more than usual," Samyaza said, stepping around behind him, dragging the brand over his open wings. Castiel flinched away from the heat, the horrific smell of burnt feathers assaulting his nostrils. It reminded him of rescuing Dean, the struggle out, the screams of the damned left behind and the blood that had still covered Dean's hands…

He shuddered.

Samyaza was in front of him now, reaching out to grip his chin, lifting it up. "Remember what I told you, Castiel. The pain is cleansing you. Embrace it, it will be easier for you if you accept your punishment."

Castiel let out a shuddering breath. "I know," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "It's just that…"

A creak of leather, a rattle of chains, and the Grigori was suddenly crouching in front of him, face only inches from his own. "Just that what, Castiel?" he asked coldly.

Castiel turned away, swallowing hard. Oh how his throat ached. It was raw, scraped to bleeding from the screams, and from the ash. He would give anything for a cool mouthful of fresh water. His eyes stung at the thought, but even his tears were gone now. Burned away by the heat and the smoke.

"Are you feeling defiant again?" Samyaza asked softly. He never outright got angry with Castiel, not like Zachariah had, and this was almost worse. The indifference was harder to deal with than the rage sometimes, especially when the results hurt just as much.

Castiel didn't answer because what was the point? If he had learned anything it was that his tormentor knew everything about him. Every feeling, every nuance, and it was pointless to hide anything from the Grigori. And yes, he was feeling defiant again. He hurt in ways he'd never though possible. His wings, the most intimate part of his true form, the true essence of his being had been exposed, and worse, he'd allowed it to happen willingly. And there was also a part of him that just wanted this to be over. Wishing for the pain to stop, though deep down he knew that was too much to ask for after everything he had done.

There was also a part of him that just wanted to believe he could go back to Sam and Dean again. That was probably the most foolish part of all.

Samyaza sighed in an almost longsuffering manner as he straightened up, returning to the table where he kept his instruments.

"I see more lessons are needed," he said matter-of-factly. "And that is okay, Castiel. It will take a while for you to accept your penance. And we certainly have the time." Castiel saw him pull a scourge off the table, multiple braided tails swinging against his thigh as he walked back over to the chained angel. Castiel felt his chest tighten as he saw the glint of barbs on the ends of the leather tails. His shoulders tensed as Samyaza stopped behind him.

"A useful trick is to focus on your sins. Remember why you are being punished. I want you to do that now, Castiel."

Castiel closed his eyes and tried to do as he was told as the first blow came. He groaned, biting his cheek to keep from crying out so soon. The second blow came, sending a couple feathers to the floor. His eyes ached, but still were unable to make tears. He tried to focus on the many things he had done wrong, the terrible things that had led him to this moment. But the only sin he could concentrate on was betraying Sam and Dean. And whenever he thought of them, to his shame, all he could think about was being back on earth with them.

Wishing that none of this had ever happened.

One tear finally tracked down through the blood on his face. Perhaps he could still cry after all. He just wished for everything to go back to the way it was before.

Before he had ruined everything.

~~~~~~~

Dean jolted awake with a gasp, clutching his shoulder where the usual burn was emanating. He glanced between Sam and Bobby who were in the front seat of Bobby's truck. Sam glanced back at him, a concerned expression on his face.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Dean grunted, rubbing a hand over his face. He hadn't meant to fall asleep even though he'd been exhausted when they'd all piled into the truck to make their way to Rufus' old lockup in Colorado. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Just crossed over the border," Bobby told him. "Should be there in an hour or so."

Sam handed a thermos of coffee back to Dean and the elder Winchester took it gratefully. He'd been asleep longer than he had thought. He shuddered as images of his latest nightmare flashed through his head. God, he was glad he had woken up when he had. He didn't think he could stand to watch that dickbag lay into Cas with that scourge one more time. He drank some coffee, letting the warm liquid thaw the icy terror that had settled in his chest. He wasn't sure if that was his own reaction or something he had gotten subconsciously through Cas.

They got to Denver in good time and Bobby found the storage place he'd had in his address book.

"I just hope I'm remembering this right," the older hunter said gruffly. "Or that Rufus didn't move the stuff somewhere else. That's just the kind of move that paranoid bastard would do."

Dean shook his head. "Well, we can only hope for the best. And if not, we'll just have to look somewhere else."

Bobby parked the truck and went into the office to get the key, and when he came back out, he nodded to the Winchesters to follow him to the storage unit.

Once they got there, they found a typical hunter's lockup, and of course that meant booby traps.

"Wait," Bobby said, slamming a hand against Sam's chest before he could step inside. The older hunter knelt and swiftly cut a thin line that Dean saw, upon exploration, was attached to a shotgun.

Once that was deactivated, Bobby cautiously looked around and then uncovered a landmine.

"Seriously?" Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"You know Rufus," Bobby grunted as he looked around for more possible traps. "I'm surprised that son of a bitch didn't rig this thing to blow on principle."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "He didn't, did he?" Dean demanded.

"Don't think so," Bobby said, then shrugged. "Well, let's find this thing quick all the same. I think it will be over here."

He went to the back of the unit where there was a shelf with a bunch of artifacts on it. Sure enough, one of them was a golden caduceus, just like the one Hermes was always depicted as carrying.

"Oh wow," Sam breathed, getting that geeky look on his face as he took the staff from Bobby, wiping the dust and cobwebs off on his sleeve.

"Now we just hope it's the real McCoy," Bobby grunted. "Otherwise we're back at square one."

"Now all we need is a hellgate," Dean said. "There's still the one in Wyoming."

"I don't think that can be opened supernaturally—that was kind of the whole point of it, and we don't have the Colt," Bobby said. "We'll have to find another way in."

"Actually, I may have already found something," Sam said as they wrapped the caduceus up in cloth and started back out to the truck. "I was doing some research on the way here, and I found this place in Massachusetts that has a ton of legends surrounding it as a gate of Hell."

Dean grunted. "Yeah, because those places are always real."

"Actually, Dad wrote about it too, and seemed to think they were onto something," Sam and. They were back at the truck by then, and Sam grabbed their dad's journal from his bag sitting in the footwell. "This place, Spider Gate, or Friend, Cemetery, was originally a Quaker cemetery back in the 1700s, but there's been weird reports and hauntings there for a long time. There's apparently this grove of trees there in a perfect circle and people have reported seeing coins laid out on the surrounding gravestones."

"And that means…" Dean coaxed, still skeptical.

"In Greek mythology, you had to pay Charon for him to ferry you across the Styx," Sam told him.

"I don't know, Sam, this seems a little thin," Dean said. "What do you think, Bobby?"

"I think it's the best we've got," the older hunter admitted truthfully.

"We don't even know if this staff was actually Hermes'," Dean protested. "What if one is bad, or both? We'll never know for sure."

"Or they may both be genuine and it will work," Sam said, glancing back at Dean over the seat. "This is the best we have to work with right now, Dean. We have to at least try."

Dean sighed, but he was in agreement with that. They had to at least try. "Okay then, I guess we're going to Massachusetts. Not exactly the place I'd expect there to be a gate to Hell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Spider Gate Cemetery is actually a real place. I found it while I was looking for a "real" hell gate to use for this story. Stull Cemetery is more infamous, but obviously it already has SPN fame, so I had to go with another, and this was the least silly of all the proclaimed hell gates in the US :P


	4. Katabasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katabasis
> 
> (Descent. A trip to the Underworld)

Even standing in front of the so-called "gate of Hell" Dean still was not convinced this was the place. They'd driven all night to get to the Spider Gate Cemetery Sam had found—surprise, surprise, it'd had spiders on the gate—and now they were standing around the grove of trees where the hellgate was supposed to be in the early dawn light.

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said as he shifted his backpack on his shoulder. They'd come prepared with provisions and weapons for their trip underground. Dean had his gun, and an angel blade, and Sam had the demon knife close to hand. They'd packed everything they could think of, but they still didn't know if this would work.

"Well, there is a vibe about this place, I'll tell you that," Bobby said, looking around cautiously. He had a shotgun himself just in case any of the local spirits got angry at their intrusion.

"There's nothing in there but a rock," Dean protested.

Sam sighed and turned to Bobby. "I guess we won't know until we go in."

Bobby lifted the still wrapped caduceus of Hermes and carefully shed the material around it before handing it to Sam. "I'm gonna stay out here. If this works, then I don't want to risk getting sucked in too. You may need someone topside."

Dean nodded and then stepped forward and embraced Bobby. "Thanks, Bobby. Look, I don't know how long we'll be—time's screwy down there and all. It might be a couple days up here, or a couple hours, but…"

"Don't sweat it," Bobby said and took a phone from his pocket as Dean released him and bent to put it under a cluster of rocks near the grove of trees. "This will be here when you get out. Call me. I won't be far." He looked between them. "Just be careful."

"We'll try, Bobby," Sam said and embraced the older hunter as well.

"Just come back in one piece, you idjits," Bobby told them fondly. "Same goes for your angel."

Dean and Sam both offered him a small smile and then stepped into the grove.

Dean instantly felt a change in the atmosphere. It was heavy, almost suffocating, and he could smell a very faint tang of brimstone and sulfur. Yeah, Sam had actually been right.

"Dean," Sam said then, calling his attention to the stone at the center of the ring.

Dean's eyes widened as he realized it was moving. Sliding back to reveal a hole in the earth. Sam held up the caduceus and the stone moved more rapidly. They cast one glance back at Bobby who was watching in amazement and a little trepidation, before they stepped forward.

Sam held out the staff so Dean could grab it too, and the elder brother looked at the hole before turning to Sam with a shrug.

"Geronimo," he said and they stepped forward into the hellgate.

~~~~~~~

Castiel's breath hitched with every inhale. Even the smallest movement caused waves of fiery agony to burn across his back. He was certain that if he were to look at the ruin Samyaza had left there, he would find no skin left from his shoulders to waist. But the scourge hadn't just torn his back apart, it had also ripped through his wings. Feathers, both whole and in pieces, littered the ground around him, telling of the damage done as if he didn't already know. It was a particular agony to have your very soul flayed.

"Do not act so self-pitying," Samyaza said almost mockingly from where he stood stoking a brazier a few yards away. "You are only making this harder on yourself."

Castiel huffed out a deep breath. "I am…not pitying myself," he forced out. "I know better…than to deserve that."

But was he as penitent as Samyaza wanted him to be? No. Castiel didn't truly even know why. Though it might have had something to do with the feeling of want that was still burning like a tiny spark deep inside his chest. A want that was born of hope, a wish. That he could go back to the Winchesters and they could learn to forgive him. Even after going back to Heaven, he hadn't felt he belonged quite so much as he did with Sam and Dean. Sitting in a council hall and making war plans with his brethren didn't feel the same as drinking beers at Bobby's house, or sitting in the backseat of the Impala with Dean's music blaring, accompanied by the elder Winchester's off-tune singing and Sam's exasperated protests.

Castiel could accept his sins, yes. He would never forgive himself for what he had done in Heaven, on Earth, to his dearest friends. But he knew the angels were also asking him to repent for falling in the first place. For choosing humanity above Heaven, and that he could not do. He would never regret helping Sam and Dean fight the apocalypse, he would only regret how long it took him to join their side, when he had known for so long that his brethren may not be in the right after all. No matter how many times Samyaza tore him apart, he would never regret that.

"There is a conflict deep inside of you," Samyaza observed. "I can see it, roiling in there. You are not fully repentant, nor do I think you ever will be." He pulled the poker he had been stoking the coals with out of the brazier and held it up. It cast a red, eerie glow across his face. "It is hard to make someone penitent when they don't even believe they have done wrong."

Castiel was silent. There was nothing he could say to that, but that Samyaza was obviously right.

"Do you know why I took up the knife, Castiel?" the Grigori went on, still inspecting the hot poker. "It was because I knew I would never repent either. And the pain, well, it got to be more than I could bear after a few centuries." He strode over to Castiel then, poker still in hand. "Perhaps you'll be that way too. Perhaps eventually, I will offer you the same deal that was made to me. Because there are really two options here, Castiel. Either you submit fully, and accept your punishment until you are repentant, or…" He pressed the poker to Castiel's side, and the angel screamed, flinching away from the fiery pain and the smell of burning flesh. "You simply keep taking it until you can't anymore. Until you're begging me to stop. And then I will consider a bargain." He couched down and grabbed a fistful of Castiel's hair, pulling his face back more violently than the Grigori ever had before. "Because there's one certainty, Castiel. You may be entertaining wild notions that you can go back to life as it was. Life with your precious human pets again. But do you really think they'll take you back? Even if they were so generous as to forgive you of your sins, look at you. What would they do with such a broken, pitiful, wretched excuse for an angel?"

Samyaza released him roughly as he stood again, striding back toward the brazier to throw the poker into it. Castiel shook uncontrollably, a knot of broken hope settling heavily in his stomach. He wanted to protest, he wanted to refute the Grigori's words but, deep down, he knew he had been right. Castiel would only be an inexcusable burden to Sam and Dean now. Even if he had a chance of going back, his wings were destroyed, and since he was most certainly cut off from Heaven again, there would be no repairing them this time.

A small hopeless sob of realization escaped his throat before he could stop it. His fists clenched as he tried to hold himself together, but he could fast feel himself tearing apart in all the ways that mattered.

Samyaza sighed, and strode back over to him. A surprisingly gentle hand carded through some of his mussed feathers and Castiel refused to let it soothe him.

"It's how it must be, Castiel. I promise it will not hurt so much after a while. In time all the memories fade. Now, let's continue, shall we?"

~~~~~~~

The next thing Dean saw was blackness. Suffocating blackness. He gulped in some air but nearly choked as ash instantly coated his throat.

"Dean!" Sam said from right beside him, and suddenly a light came on. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, trying to calm his breathing, as he shared a glance with Sam who was now holding a flashlight.

"That thing works down here?" Dean asked, actually surprised.

Sam shrugged. "Guess so."

They looked around and saw they were in some sort of small chamber with only one way out. There was no indication of a gateway back out topside, but Dean had to hope that on the way back out, they would be able to use Hermes' staff the same way.

"Here, give me that," he said and took the staff from Sam, carefully tucking it into his backpack. He didn't think they'd need it until they were on their return trip.

"Well, I guess there's only one way," Dean said, nodding to the tunnel that was yawning in front of them.

Sam nodded then held his hands at the ready, one flat, one in a fist.

Dean huffed, but took up the same position. They counted off and then Dean was surprised to see Sam's hand indicating paper as his indicated scissors.

Sam looked at him in disbelief. "You actually won?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah, looks like it." He clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Okay then, you're up."

Sam gave him a bitchface and took his demon knife from his belt, holding it firmly as he started through the tunnel. It was still dark, even with the flashlight, and close. It seemed to get narrower and narrower the further they went and Dean was starting to get anxious. He brushed it off, but that didn't keep him from having to remind himself to take deep breaths every few seconds.

"Crap," Sam muttered eventually.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"Looks like we're gonna have to crawl."

Dean glanced over his brother's shoulder and saw that the tunnel had narrowed so much that it was only a crawl space now.

"Well, there's no other way," Dean said, and Sam muttered something, but crouched down and started to make his way through the smaller tunnel. Dean licked his dry lips and followed after him.

It got worse and worse as they went. Pretty soon, they had to take their backpacks off and push them ahead of them as they wormed through the tunnel. Dean was growing increasingly anxious. Sure, he'd had to go in some tight spaces in his long and varied career as a hunter—placed worse than this—but ever since Hell, ever since he'd woken up buried alive with no one around to hear him claw his way out of that coffin, he'd been really bad in tight, dark places.

And then the worst happened. He got wedged.

"Sam," he said, his voice hoarse and frantic. "I'm stuck."

"Dude, it's tight, but I got through okay. Just wiggle."

"I'm broader than you, as long as you get your shoulders through, you're good," Dean protested, already wriggling but with little luck.

"Yeah, broader, sure. More like it's all the pies and burgers you eat," Sam retorted. "Suck your stomach in!"

"Sam this isn't funny," Dean snapped, close to panicking—no, scratch that, he was already panicking, gasping in the thick air.

Thankfully, Sam realized that and changed his tone. "Dean, hey, you need to calm down," he said as calmly as possible and the light flashed over his shoulder. "Just take deep breaths and then try to breathe out all at once and push yourself through."

Dean tried to do as he was told, and it partly worked. He got one shoulder through, shoving his backpack farther along, but his other arm was officially wedged against his chest and there were rocks digging painfully into his ribs, constricting further, making him feel like he couldn't catch a breath. He started to gasp.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, bringing him back to reality for a second. "Just breathe, man! Okay? You're gonna be all right. Now, can you grab my foot?"

Dean scrambled with his free hand, shoving past his backpack, and found the heel of Sam's boot. He stretched until he could grab his brother's ankle and held on tight.

"Okay, just breathe out and I'll try to help pull you through. I don't think we're too far from the exit. It gets bigger up ahead." Sam told him.

"'Kay," Dean gasped out and tried to focus his breathing.

"Ready?" Sam asked. "One…two…"

On three Dean forced all the air from his lungs and shifted as Sam pulled him forward from ahead. Dean finally felt himself move and he gasped in relief as his body became unstuck.

He and Sam shuffled the last few yards until they fell out into a large antechamber, both breathing heavily.

"Ugh," Dean muttered, running his hands over his face as he sat down heavily against the rock. "Okay, we are not going out that way."

"Are you good?" Sam asked him softly.

"Fine," Dean said, but didn't want to admit how rattled that had left him. It was only worse with the added feel, the smell, of Hell. Images of blood, sounds of screaming, of Alastair's sibilant voice in his ear, filled his head, and he shook it off, forcing himself to his feet.

"Come on," he said. "No use wasting time. Cas is down here somewhere and needs our help."

"Dean, hold on," Sam said, also pushing himself to his feet. "How are we even going to go about finding him? I mean, look," he pointed to the way ahead of them which had three tunnels jutting off the main antechamber they had landed in. "We don't even know which way to start looking!"

Dean was about to say they flip a coin when his shoulder twinged. He touched it instinctively with a frown, wondering what was going on. On a hunch, he started toward the tunnels. Passing one and then another, before making it to the third. His scar tingled insistently and his eyes widened.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Sam asked, looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

Dean turned back around and shrugged in astonishment. "Sam, I think my scar is going to lead the way. Maybe that whole 'profound bond' crap Cas was talking about is more than just his weird approach at social skills. I mean, it helped me tap into his subconscious or something, so why not this?"

Sam nodded. "That makes sense. I guess."

"Either way, I'm not complaining," Dean said, and pointed to the tunnel. "I think this is the way."

Sam hitched his pack back over his shoulders. "Then let's go."

~~~~~~~

They traveled for what felt like several hours. They had no way of knowing, because their watches had stopped working as soon as they had gotten to the underworld, and the countless dark tunnels messed with their heads.

But Dean led the way through twinges in his scar, kind of like a game of 'warmer, colder', hoping he was keeping them headed in the right direction. Of course, there was no way to tell, but Dean didn't think this was a trick. He felt too…connected to Cas, for want of a better word. Cheesy as hell, yeah, but he wasn't complaining if it meant less time stuck down here searching fruitlessly for their friend.

And yeah, Dean had started thinking of Cas as their friend again. He supposed that losing him in such a horrible way had changed his perspective a little. Yeah, he'd been ready to punch Cas' face in a couple weeks before, but now…now that he started to think about it, had time to really look back, he could see how Cas' hands were tied, had started to understand his motivations. He'd had time to cool down. He just wished he'd been able to do that before Cas thought he had to sacrifice himself for the greater good. But then, hadn't they all been there? But Dean still wished they could go back and do it over again, this time with him and Sam supporting Cas like they should have as his self-professed friends, family even, instead of leaving him to make his own bad decisions and have to rely on Crowley above his real friends.

He promised that if—when—they got Cas out of here, he would do better. He would be a better friend. Because that loyal idiot deserved the best friends anyone could have. Dean never professed to be that, but he would definitely try his best.

"You know, it's not as bad as I thought it would be down here," Sam mused after a while, as they stopped to take a break for water.

Dean snorted. "That's because we're still getting into Hell Proper. This is probably just the backdoor into the underworld. It's a little dank here, even for demons."

It certainly wasn't the area of Hell Dean remembered from his time there. He had been trying not to think about that the whole time they'd been down there, but it was impossible not to. Still, at least he had something else to focus on.

"Come on, let's get going," he said swiftly, capping his bottle of water, and then starting off again, Sam close on his heels.

They were only walking for a few more minutes when they heard the sound of distant dogs barking.

Dean stopped, looking around with his flashlight. "Sam, you hear that?"

"Yeah," Sam replied grimly. "I guess it's probably too much to hope they're normal dogs, right?"

"Yep, hellhouds for sure," Dean said, a shiver going up his spine as he recalled his up close and personal experiences with the beasts. He didn't want a repeat. "You had to say something about the lack of life, didn't you?"

Sam huffed. "We need to go. They may not even be coming this way."

Of course that was too much to ask. As they hurried down the tunnel they were currently in, the sound of barking and growling only seemed to get louder, until it was echoing right behind them.

Sam turned around as they reached a bend in the path and pulled his pistol out. "Dean," he said urgently.

Dean glanced back as well, hearing the deafening barking echoing through the tunnels, before he saw dust and rocks being kicked up further down the path.

"Run," he gasped out and he and Sam took off down the tunnel without another word.

Dean could still feel the insistent tingle in his scar, but at the moment, he almost didn't care if he took a wrong turn. They could always backtrack later, all he was interested in was shaking the hounds off their trail.

That was when Sam tripped over a rock he hadn't illuminated with his wild flashlight waving. Dean heard him cry out and thud to the ground as the hounds snarled and tore toward them.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, and reached for his brother's hands to haul him to his feet.

Sam cried out then, suddenly tugged backward with a violent jerk. Clawmarks appeared on the back of his right calf, tearing through his jeans. Dean grabbed Sam's dropped gun and shot at the invisible hound. He heard a satisfying yelp and saw black blood spurt against the wall of the tunnel and then unceremoniously grabbed Sam under the arms and hauled him to his feet. He gripped one of Sam's arms tightly and hurried them both forward.

"Go, go!" he cried.

Sam's breathing was ragged as he tried to keep Dean's pace and swallow back the pain in his leg, but they both had good incentive, and they somehow kept ahead of the hounds until they came to another fork in the tunnel. Dean felt the vague tug from his scar toward the right, and hauled Sam in that direction, their boots pounding down the tunnel with the hellhounds snapping at their heels.

Until they weren't.

All of a sudden, the hellhounds came to a snarling halt, barking several times and growling as they clawed at the ground in front of them, but didn't come any closer.

Dean skidded to a stop, and he and Sam both turned around, panting, as they watched with confusion at the claw marks the invisible hounds were leaving, and the bursts of fetid, hot air as they barked, but they made no move to come closer. In fact, they just seemed angry.

"Dean, we should go," Sam said.

Dean nodded, wondering if the hounds were just waiting for them to run again, but they started retreating instead, one, then two, at a time.

Something about that didn't seem right to Dean. He just had a bad feeling about it.

He didn't get a chance to think on it for long, though, because after only a few steps, the ground beneath his and Sam's feet dropped right out from under them, and they fell into darkness with a collective shout.

The last thing Dean remembered was hitting a rock hard surface and everything going black.


	5. Lethe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lethe
> 
> (The River of forgetfulness and oblivion)

Castiel slumped heavily in his chains, so weary that all he wanted was to lie down. Just to lie down, to have even a sip of water; those were the only things he wanted right now. Even that would go a long way to some comfort. Instead he shifted on his aching knees, having been in this position so long that he couldn't feel them anymore. His legs were like numb, pointless objects, no longer good for moving, like his wings were no longer good for flying. If only those were as numb as his legs.

"I'm curious, Castiel," Samyaza was saying as they took another break. He was busy cleaning his instruments of Castiel's blood. The last session had left him with methodical cuts up and down his torso and thighs. He was covered in his own blood, but in so many ways it was better than when Samyaza concentrated on his wings. Anything was better than that.

"Tell me about these humans that you fell for—the Winchesters," the Grigori continued.

"Why?" Castiel croaked, not really in the mood to talk.

"Because I want to know why they are so important to you," Samyaza said. "You see, my companions and I, we fell for humanity and all it's sins. The pleasure, the superficial things. I was always particularly fond of the women and the drink. But you…your companionship with the Winchesters only seems to have caused you endless suffering and pain. I simply don't see why you would throw all Heaven had to offer away for…that."

Castiel took a deep breath, not wanting to talk to Samyaza about this, but knowing there was no point in refusing either. "Sam and Dean are…they taught me how to have free will. That is more precious than anything."

"But look where's it's gotten you," Samyaza stated. "Here, serving penance under my hand. Is that truly what you envisioned?"

Castiel licked his dry lips. "I have come to understand that free will usually ends in death."

"Then why bother?"

"Because," he said, after a long pause. "There is still something beautiful and pure about making your own decisions. And the Winchesters…they are good men. They did not deserve what fate entailed for them, and they still ended up saving the world in the end, despite what everyone else said."

"But not the way they were intended to," the Grigori said.

"No. But I came to realize that neither Lucifer nor Michael had the answer. In reality they wanted the same thing. There would have been no real place for humanity in either of their worlds. And I…I chose humanity, because they may be flawed, but there is still something beautiful about the way they continue to try to do better."

"But yet your precious humans cast you aside in the end, like an old coat," Samyaza said, cocking his head to one side. "How can you still care so much for them?"

"Because it was my fault. I betrayed them," Castiel whispered. "They were entitled."

Samyaza seemed to prick up his ears at this. He nodded. "Finally, I hear true remorse in your voice. That is good, Castiel. We shall start there, with how you betrayed the Winchesters. Do you believe that to be your greatest sin?"

Castiel closed his eyes, breath shuddering, but he finally nodded. "Yes," he whispered. "I know I should feel for the angels I killed, and I do, but this…this is all I can think of."

"Then we shall correct this sin first, and then concentrate on the others," Samyaza said in a businesslike manner. He picked up the scourge again and strode over to Castiel, but instead of moving into position behind him, he stopped at his right hand and unlocked it from the manacle.

Castiel gasped as his arm fell limply to his side, numb from the long suspension. Samyaza went to unlock the other hand and watched as Castiel rubbed life back into the appendages, trying to shift so that his wings didn't take so much of the added weight.

"If you are truly repentant of this sin, Castiel, you will show me yourself," Samyaza told him and Castiel looked up to see the handle of the scourge dangling in front of his face.

A sick feeling settled into his stomach as he realized what the Grigori had planned. "No, please, I…I can't," he pleaded weakly.

"You can't?" Samyaza asked blandly. "Are you not repentant, Castiel? Even for your precious Winchesters and all you've done to them? True, this will not earn their trust and friendship back…as you know, it is far too late for that, but it will make you feel better. This I can promise."

Castiel shook his head, but the lash stayed in front of his face.

"You don't think you deserve this?" Samyaza asked sharply. "Because you do, Castiel. You deserved to die by their hands. If you hadn't been captured by the angels, do you have any doubt that the Winchesters would have killed you themselves after what you did?"

Castiel's breath hitched in an uncontrollable sob. "They—they wouldn't…"

"Oh, but they would," Samyaza said firmly. "All humans are the same. Fickle, petty creatures. You do them wrong, they hate you for the rest of their lives. Especially men like the Winchesters. No concept of forgiveness. As I told you before, Castiel. Forget them; forget everything you knew before because there is no going back to that. You are going to stay here for eternity. There is no saving you, Castiel. There is only living with your sins, and you can only do that if you serve the proper penance. So tell me, do you not deserve this for what you did?"

Castiel thought back to Dean's face when the small scrap of hope he had held onto for so long was torn away by Castiel's own words. The way he had looked when he'd asked Castiel to wipe Lisa and Ben's memories. How Sam had asked if he had brought him back soulless on purpose, and then how he had lain in a nightmare induced coma after Castiel had broken down his wall…yes, he deserved no better than this.

With shaking hands, he reached up and took the scourge. Samyaza looked pleased as he released it into Castiel's grip.

"That is better. Show me, Castiel. Show me how penitent you are. I promise, it will soften the agony you are feeling about your sins against the Winchesters."

Recalling Sam and Dean's betrayed expressions once again, Castiel raised the lash, and as tears of remorse for the dear friends he knew now he had lost forever spilled over his cheeks, he turned the lash onto his own back.

~~~~~~~

Dean came to with a gasp. He instantly wished he hadn't because he inhaled a lungful of ash, and began to cough violently. He rolled over onto his side to continue hacking and managed to wrestle his backpack off so he could find a water bottle. He took several sips, finally getting his breathing under control again and then sat up completely.

It was pitch black and felt close. He felt around until his hand landed on his flashlight and he flicked it on, illuminating the room, pushing himself to his feet.

It was a small pitfall, about twenty feet down he saw, as he looked up at the hole he'd fallen through. He was surprised he hadn't broken any bones, although he still wasn't sure whether he hadn't cracked a couple ribs. His right side was killing him and his hip was pretty bashed up too.

But there was time to check that later. Right now, there were more pressing concerns. One was that Sam was nowhere to be found.

The other was that the entire pitfall was covered in bones.

"Oh yeah, this is just awesome," Dean muttered to himself as he looked around the scattered skeletons. He kicked through some of the bones to retrieve his angel blade, and saw that most of the bones looked to be those of creatures. Some whole skeletons dumped there. If he were to hazard a guess, he'd say that some of them belonged to hellhounds. Which was probably why the pack chasing them had been so hesitant to come this way.

Which meant that whatever was down here was way worse than hellhounds.

He stumbled around to look for any trace of Sam, and came across something else just as disturbing. Human bones.

But…no. Not quite right. For one, he didn't think humans were typically a staple down here unless a demon brought his meatsuit back home with him, which they typically didn't bother doing because in Hell, they could take any form they wanted. There was something odd about this human skeleton though. It had long appendages, like an extra set of arms. Dean thought it might be some kind of monster, before he recognized the appendages for what they were.

Wings.

Which meant these had to belong to angels.

Dean felt a surge of sickness bubble in his throat. No, it couldn't be Cas, he'd seen him alive down here and these looked like they'd been there for a while, but maybe these had been some of his comrades lost in the line of duty when the angels had come to rescue Dean from the pit. Probably some of the last decent angels too.

And that raised another worrying question; if this thing could eat angels, what the hell was it? And where the hell was Sam?

The sound of a large figure moving and shuffling along came to Dean's right. He whipped his head around and saw, for the first time, that there was a tunnel there that led to another room. Dean looked around for another escape, but there was none. He looked at his angel blade. Okay, so maybe this wouldn't be the best plan. At least not until he saw what he was up against.

At the last moment, he rushed back to the spot he had woken up in, tucking his angel blade into his coat, and lay down, pretending to still be unconscious.

It was really hard as the—whatever it was—got closer because he was suddenly hit with a wave of rotten meat stench. It was everything he could do to keep from retching.

Huge feet crunched through the bones. Dean didn't dare open his eyes yet, holding his breath. The thing rumbled and then nudged Dean none-too-gently in his side, before reaching down and grabbing his ankles in one giant hand.

Dean's breath hitched as he was dragged down the hallway, backpack, thankfully taking the brunt of the rock, and finally opened his eyes to see his captor.

The thing was freaking huge. It was at least eight feet tall and broad, dark skin and horns sticking out the sides of its head. Dean had never seen anything like this before, but if he were to take a guess, he'd go with some kind of old demon, or Hell monster. Maybe one of those guardians Sam had mentioned from the old stories.

Soon the thing deposited Dean into a larger room. There was a brazier burning brightly not too far away, and a stone slab that was covered in ominous dark stains. Dean was dropped unceremoniously beside it and he stayed still, glancing at his surroundings through half-closed lids.

It was then he heard a grunt, and flicked his eyes over to see the monster standing next to something dangling from the ceiling. Dean's eyes widened as he saw it was his brother.

Sam had been trussed up tightly and suspended by his ankles to the ceiling of the cave. He was at about eye level with the monster, and he was wriggling uselessly, trying to get free.

"Stop squirming, maggot," the monster growled, its voice deep and guttural.

"What are you?" Sam asked, voice strained. Dean was starting to reach for his knife, and shrug off his backpack so he could move quicker. Thankfully the monster had its back turned to him for the moment.

"I am Eurynomos," the monster growled.

"The eater of flesh?" Sam asked. Dean almost rolled his eyes. Of course his geeky brother knew what this thing was.

The monster almost looked impressed. "A clever maggot. Yes, I am called that."

"Don't you usually eat corpses?" Sam demanded, wriggling again.

Eury—whatever his name was—chuckled, a grating sound that got on Dean's nerves instantly. "That is typically all I am allowed—acting as clean-up for what the other denizens tire of playing with—but how could I resist two warm blooded warriors when they choose to fall into my realm? It has been a very long time since I've had fresh meat."

It leaned over and sniffed at Sam before licking up the side of his face and neck with a big, cow-like tongue. Sam shuddered in disgust and Dean used the monster's distraction to make his move.

"Delicious," the monster rumbled.

"Eat this!" Dean yelled, and stabbed the angel blade into the thing's back.

It roared and spun around, catching Dean with a backhand swing and throwing him back into a wall. Dean hit hard, all the breath knocked from him. This time he distinctively felt a rib crack and he gasped out breathlessly.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, struggling even more.

The monster, Eurynomos or whatever, reached behind him and yanked the angel blade from his back. He studied it with interest as Dean fought to get to his feet.

"How odd," the monster said. "You use angelic steel, yet you are no angel. Unfortunate too, they have the sweetest tasting flesh. All that self-righteousness." The thing licked its lips and tossed the angel blade aside as it strode forward and grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt, hauling him the rest of the way up. "Perhaps I should eat you first then, since you are so eager."

He lifted Dean bodily and slammed him onto the stone slab. It smelled of old blood and was sticky under Dean's back from coat upon coat of dried blood. Dean struggled, but Eurynomos pinned him easily with one huge, clawed hand to his chest, ignoring even Dean's most heavy kicks. The struggling only seemed to amuse the monster.

"I do like the lively ones. But we'll see how lively you are after I pull out your entrails."

Dean's eyes widened as Eurynomos' other hand was raised, ready to claw him open, but at that moment, he was able to wrestle his gun from under his back and brought it up, shooting directly into the monster's eye.

The beast howled, staggering backwards, holding a hand over his bleeding eye and Dean leapt off the table, surging for a bunch of old weapons lying in one corner of the room. He picked up a huge battle axe, and while Eurynomos was doubled over, Dean brought the axe down on the back of his neck.

It took three blows, but finally the monster's head rolled onto the ground and the huge body collapsed in a pool of dark blood.

Dean stood there panting and spattered in monster blood before he dropped the axe with a sigh of relief.

"Dude," he said, glancing up at Sam, half giddy. "I can't believe I did that."

"Good for you, Dean, now get me down, dammit!" his younger brother yelled, wriggling like a caught fish.

Dean hurried over and did his best to support Sam's upper body so he wouldn't just fall on his head when he released him, and then simply shot the rope with his gun since he couldn't reach it any other way.

Sam yelped and collapsed against Dean, barely getting his feet on the ground before they simply fell into a heap on the floor. Dean cried out as Sam's full weight collapsed onto his injured side.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean wheezed, winded by his brother's sasquatch weight.

"Sorry," Sam grunted trying to loosen the ropes. "Little help?

Dean grabbed the dropped angel blade and started sawing through the rope. Who would have guessed that a giant flesh-eating monster could have been so good at knots?

Sam hissed as Dean cut the ropes around his ankles, and the elder brother saw the claw marks from the hellhound attack earlier.

"Ouch, those are pretty deep," he said, peeling aside the tears in Sam's jeans to inspect the wounds. "I think we should probably bandage those up."

Sam didn't argue, and sat still as Dean washed the wounds out and wrapped some gauze around them. He hoped hellhound wounds didn't have any adverse effects but used holy water to wash them all the same.

Eventually, though, Sam was patched up and free of the ropes, and he rubbed life back into his limbs as Dean went to retrieve both their backpacks. Thankfully, they hadn't lost any of their supplies, or, more importantly, the staff of Hermes.

"You good?" Dean asked his little brother as Sam staggered to his feet again.

"Yeah, I think so. Little bruised from the fall. You?"

Dean shrugged. "Cracked rib, should be okay though."

Sam looked at him with concern. "We should probably take a look at that."

Dean sighed, but put down his backpack again. "Fair enough." He allowed Sam to inspect his side. There was a terrible bruise on it, but the rib itself, though painful, was only cracked at worst, and didn't seem to be in danger of puncturing a lung or anything.

"We should bind it anyway, just to keep it tight," Sam said. "Since we're probably gonna be doing a lot of running."

Dean grunted but agreed. Pretty soon, they had bound his side, and taken a break for water and some protein bars and beef jerky, before they gathered up their weapons and started off into the tunnels again.

Dean just went in the direction his scar tingled, realizing there were about a million tunnels and ways to go down there. Even though he had a guide, it could still take them days—weeks even—to find anyone down here. At least that would still only count as days up top so Bobby wouldn't have to wait too long for them, wondering what the hell had happened.

But there was no other way to go about it. Because if one thing was certain, it was that Dean was not leaving here without Cas.

~~~~~~~

Castiel was nearly unconscious, slumped in his chains, new rivulets of blood dripping down his back. He was really too weak to care that it was only his wings that were keeping him from falling on his face since Samyaza still hadn't manacled his hands again. They ached so badly, but he couldn't move. It seemed he had no strength left.

Then came something glorious. It was cool and wet and pressed against his lips. Castiel gasped, parting his cracked and bleeding lips to allow some of the liquid to enter. It spilled onto his tongue, sweet, and beautiful, sliding down his throat like ice cooling the fire there—the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted. He nearly sobbed in relief.

But there was something wrong. Already a feeling of numbness, oblivion, was washing over him even in that one sip and he hurriedly opened his eyes, forcing his body to push at that feeling, and he met Samyaza's eyes as the Grigori knelt in front of him with a goblet of water in his hand.

"What…?" Castiel choked out, fighting to clear his head of the numbness.

"Shh, just drink, it will help," the other angel coaxed.

Castiel shook his head firmly, pressing his lips together. "No."

"Drink it, Castiel," the Grigori insisted. "It is necessary for you to move on. The waters of Lethe offer oblivion, they take away the earthly memories of the past, and make it so that souls can truly move on. You must begin to let your past go."

Terror filled Castiel then. "No, I—I don't want it. I don't w-want to forget!" he cried.

"Castiel," Samyaza said firmly. "Choosing to remember is essentially choosing humanity. Did you not just repent of those sins?"

"I served penance for betraying my friends!" Castiel cried. "But I will not give them up! I cannot!" It would be impossible. The memories of the good times he had shared with Sam and Dean, even if each one tore his heart out at the same time for what could never be again, were the only thing keeping him strong here. Without that, he would never survive. The wounds he had opened on his own back were his punishment for hurting them. They were never for joining the Winchesters in the first place no matter what Samyaza wanted to think.

"Castiel, you delude yourself still," Samyaza said with disgust. He did not let emotion show often, but Castiel could tell he was getting impatient. "Your so-called human friends will never take you back. I've told you that before. Do not labor under the delusions that you will somehow be able to go back to them. They would never take you back anyway. Even your own brethren would not take you back. You're a filthy, corrupted, traitor to everyone you have ever known. Too human to be a good angel, and too angelic to be a human. You don't belong anywhere, you are too wrong for any of it. An aberration."

Castiel couldn't watch him, couldn't listen to these words. Were they true? How could they not be? Every one of them pierced him through the heart as only truth could.

"But here," Samyaza continued, crouching in front of him with the goblet still in hand. "Here is where you truly belong. Here, where you can serve as an example to other angels who might try the same thing as you. Here, where you can do no harm to anyone but yourself, which is only fair. You were made to suffer, Castiel, for your sins and the sins of others that you took on your own shoulders. Because if not that, then what point is there in your even breathing?"

Castiel looked down between his knees where his hands rested against them, covered in his own blood. He tried not to let the words get to him, tried so hard, and failed.

The goblet returned to his lips.

"Drink."

With one last surge of defiance, Castiel brought up one hand and slapped the goblet from Samyaza's grasp. It went flying, the water falling like rain over the bloodstained floor.

Samyaza straightened and slapped Castiel across the face. The first spontaneous anger he had ever shown.

"Perhaps I misjudged you," he snarled. "You are not penitent at all, are you? Well, then Castiel, I can make you penitent. I will make you renounce your humans and learn what it's like to truly repent your sins."

He locked Castiel's wrists back into their manacles and pulled a jug off the table. He went over to the brazier and pulled the poker from the flames. Then he poured the contents of the jar over it, and it lit brilliantly, cracking in an impossible flame.

Castiel knew what it was instantly. Holy fire.

"The only thing for a sinner like you, Castiel, it to be cleansed with fire," Samyaza told him firmly. "We'll see how defiant you still are after I'm done with you."

Castiel only had time to shake his head. "No, please…" but after that, all that came out of his throat were screams.


	6. Cocytus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cocytus
> 
> (The River of lamentation)

Sam insisted that they stop to rest a few hours after they had left Eurynomos' cave, and Dean couldn't really argue. While he wasn't sure exactly how long they had been down there, his body was exhausted, and he knew they needed to keep up their strength.

They ate some of their supplies—more granola bars and beef jerky—and then took turns getting a few hours of sleep while the other watched to make sure that there were no impending dangers.

Oddly enough, Dean didn't dream down there, which was strange because when he'd been a soul, he had dreamed plenty between Alastair's sessions. Maybe it was different for mortals. That being said, he was certainly not complaining about a couple hours sleep without being forced to watch what was happening to Cas.

Somewhat refreshed from their nap, even if their bruised bodies hurt worse after sleeping on the stone floor, they continued on farther and farther into the pit as Dean led the way with his subconscious connection to Cas.

He'd tried praying to Cas during their break while he was keeping watch. He wasn't sure if the angel could hear him down here, but he thought that if maybe he could get through to him that he and Sam were coming for him, then Cas would stay strong.

Hell, Dean knew how important it was to stay strong down here.

Eventually, they seemed to move out of the cave system they had been stuck in for what seemed like days. Finally, it opened up into a huge cavernous area lit with an eerie dark green mirk. Dean and Sam just stood and looked up at the vast 'sky' above, where lightning flashed periodically. Dean swallowed.

"Yeah, this looks more familiar," Dean said bitterly. He could taste the ash on his tongue with every breath and grabbed a water bottle from his pack, taking a sip.

"Is this…the part of Hell you remember?" Sam asked cautiously.

Dean shrugged. "Hard to tell. Most of the time I was locked up in a cell, or in Alastair's workroom."

He watched Sam's jaw work, and really hoped he wouldn't try to say something. He didn't need a shoulder to cry on right now. "Come on," he started forward, trying to determine which way his 'Cas locator' was pointing them this time. "Let's move."

Sam followed hesitantly, hand gripping his demon knife. "You think there's more demons around here?"

"Probably," Dean muttered. "But we know how to deal with demons. It's flesh eating monsters that prove more difficult."

"You know, I've been thinking," Sam said, hurrying along at Dean's heels. "Eurynomos was from Greek origin like Hermes. Do you think there's only one underworld, Hell, the House of Hades, whatever you will? Like, this is a huge conglomeration of all of them?"

Dean shrugged, really not caring. "I don't know, Sam, that's kind of more your department."

Sam offered a bitchface that Dean caught in his peripheral. "What I mean is that there could be more down here than just demons and hellhounds. I mean, the Greek Underworld had a bunch of monsters that the heroes who undertook a journey there had to fight off."

"Well, we can only hope we'll slip past their radar, then," Dean said. "Otherwise, they'll just have to learn not to mess with us like the rest of the fuglies."

They continued on, until Dean was sure he could hear the sound of running water. He frowned, stopping. "You hear that?"

Sam cocked his head and nodded. "Yeah, sounds like a river." They went on and came across a large river in the middle of a huge cave, looking pretty fast and deep.

"Well, that's gonna be a bitch to cross," Dean muttered as he stepped forward, looking for something to test the depth with.

"Wait," Sam cautioned, grabbed his shoulder. "You probably don't want to touch the water."

"Why not?" Dean demanded.

"Because nothing really good comes from mortals touching the waters of any of the rivers in the Underworld," Sam said, then shrugged. "Unless it's the Styx, which could give you invincibility. But the others, the Lethe, the Acheron, Cocytus…I wouldn't want to take our chances."

"So you don't think it's just a river?"

"I think we're in Hell, and everything wants to kill us," Sam replied blandly.

"Okay, then, can't argue there. But my Cas radar is telling me we need to get across, so we'll have to find some way to do that."

He and Sam spent several minutes looking around, seeing if there was a way, they could rig ropes above the river, but there was nothing to secure them too, nor was there anything they could use to bridge the gap. Then as they walked down the river a bit, Dean saw something peeking out from several rocks.

"Yatzee," he called, and dragged it from its place, revealing a raft. "Looks like someone was prepared."

Sam looked around as if the owner would come after them, but when no one did, he shrugged. "Okay then, let's go."

There was a pole lying next to the raft and Sam took that up as they pushed the raft onto the river's edge and very carefully got onto it, making sure they didn't get splashed by the water.

Dean settled down gingerly as Sam started poling them across the river. Dean looked around, cautious, in case anything came to attack them, but there miraculously didn't seem to be anything evil in sight.

Then he started to hear the moaning.

He frowned, looking around, unsure whether he'd actually heard anything after all.

"Sam?" he asked.

His younger brother looked back over his shoulder. "What?"

"You hear anything?"

Sam frowned, then shook his head. "No, I…"

Screams and wails started up again, in earnest now. This time Sam did obviously hear them, as he looked around for the source.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked

"I don't know," Sam replied, "but I'm guessing souls of the damned."

"Great," Dean muttered. "Keep poling."

Amazingly, they made it across the river without mishap, and struck land with the raft, quickly scrambling off of it and stashing it safely behind another rock. With any luck it would be there on the return trip.

But even though they'd gotten off the river, the moans and wails hadn't stopped, in fact, they'd only seemed to get louder, and the tug of Dean's scar seemed to be leading them right in that direction.

"This can't be good," Dean muttered, and took his knife out, holding it firmly in his hand. Sam did likewise and they continued on.

It seemed darker here, and the smell of ash and blood was becoming almost too cloying. This was the Hell Dean recalled most vividly. He wondered if they were close to where he had been kept. Even the screams and cries of pain were familiar, that loss of all hope and humanity. He'd been there. Obviously, he had taken up the knife for Alastair when he'd had too much.

"Dean," Sam said and Dean snapped out of his dark thoughts, spinning around to see his brother's concerned face. "Are you okay?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure we're going in the right direction?"

Dean took several steps to check his bearings, and nodded. "Yeah, it's pointing me here. Why?"

"Because it looks like we're going into another tunnel, and I think it's where the cries are coming from," Sam said grimly.

Dean looked forward and saw a dark hole ahead of them. "Yeah, I think you're right."

Neither of them said another word. They both knew they had to go forward, even if they didn't want to. Dean had no idea what they were going to find on the other side, but he had a sick feeling he wasn't going to like it at all.

He was right; he didn't.

The tunnel opened up to a flame-filled passageway. Torches and braziers littered the hall, and the wails become almost unbearable. Dean took two steps and realized his boots were sticking to the ground. When he looked down, he saw it was because there were rivulets of blood trickling across the rock at his feet.

"Oh my god," Sam breathed as he followed close behind his brother, knife held at the ready, looking like he might be sick.

Dean couldn't say a thing. He felt his world closing in, he clenched his fist around the knife, trying to force himself to think of anything else, but it was too real. The smell, the atmosphere; the pain of the screams was so palpable he could taste it. No matter how hard he tried to push it from his mind, he was back there, watching Alasdair carve his intestines out—watching his own hands do the same to some other poor soul…

Before he knew it, he was hyperventilating.

"Dean!" Sam cried, arms around him before Dean had realized he'd nearly collapsed. Sam was bearing his weight now, spinning him around and slapping him across the face. Dean came out of it with an indignant sputter, but he was back to himself. Everything was back in focus.

"Come on, Dean, you have to keep it together," Sam pleaded. "For Cas. For—for me."

That did it. Dean swallowed back the bile rising in his throat and nodded sharply, gripping Sam's shoulder. "Okay. You're right. Come on then, let's get this over with. Barrel through."

It was a good plan in theory, but it didn't work that way.

Only a few hundred feet more, and they came upon the source of the cries.

Soul upon soul lined the passageway, some were chained, some were trussed up, others were suspended by meat hooks, or even impaled. Others were locked in tight, body-shaped cages, keeping them from moving at all. It would have been horrific to anyone, but Dean had seen it all before. He'd lived it, he'd worked at Alastair's right hand in a place like this—maybe even this very place—he wasn't sure how many of them there were down here. In any case, the memories were crashing down, and he was fighting with everything he had to beat them back.

"Come on, Dean," Sam said. His own voice was strangled, horror in his eyes as he looked ahead before he turned back to meet his brother's eyes. "Come on, just follow me. You can do this."

Dean grit his teeth, but didn't say anything. He wanted to agree with Sam, but honestly? He wasn't sure he could.

So there they were. Sam's hand was clamped firmly around his forearm as he pulled Dean forward toward the damned souls, and Dean was doing everything he could to make his feet move forward.

Cas, if you can hear me, he prayed silently in his head. I promise we're coming, I promise. Maybe giving Cas strength would give him strength.

But then they began to pass the souls and a hiss went up among them.

"You! It's you!" one woman cried, spitting at Dean as Sam hauled him past.

"He's come back!" another screamed and began to sob.

Yeah, as Dean had feared, this was his old haunting ground after all.

"Traitor!" another spat. "Why would you take up the knife?"

"Dean Winchester," another whispered. "The color red suits you."

Dean tried to block them out, tried to ignore Sam's hand squeezing his arm tighter, but he couldn't. He knew exactly what he'd done down here. He would never forgive himself that.

That was when the souls began to reach out for him. Flicking chains and tripping him up, some hitting him, some clawing at his arms and back and face as he passed.

"Come back, traitor, come pay your dues!" one screamed.

"We want to make you scream!"

"Make you bleed!"

More hands swarmed him. He didn't know when the walls had gotten closer together, but it seemed he could no longer escape the reach of the souls. They grasped fistfuls of his clothes, ripping, holding on, clawing at him.

"Dean!" Sam cried as the damned took hold of him too, fighting to separate them.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, scrambling for a better grip on his little brother as the souls began to haul him back towards them violently, tearing his clothes, ripping into his flesh. He cried out as hands tangled in his hair, wrapped around his neck.

Sam's hand slipped from his arm and the younger man cried out as he was pulled farther away from Dean. Dean was being buried by the vengeful souls, as they screamed and tore at him with nothing but their hands.

"Let's see how he likes it!" one screamed.

"We'll make him suffer!"

"You enjoyed tormenting us so much, now let us return the favor!"

"Sam," Dean tried to choke out, hearing his brother crying out and fighting somewhere far away. The souls were tearing through his clothes, leaving bloody claw marks on his flesh, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't get the upper hand.

Then a murmur rose down the hallway and heavy footsteps sounded out.

"What the hell is going on here?" A voice demanded.

More screams sounded out, and the crack of a lash, and suddenly the souls suffocating Dean began to dissipate, leaving him lying there on the bloody ground, looking up at a demon, walking down the hall.

The demon sneered, a mixture of surprise and disgust on his face. "Winchesters. What, by all that's unholy, are you doing here?"

Dean scrambled to his feet, seeing Sam not far away, doing the same. This must have been the demon in charge here.

"I'm gonna report this. His Majesty will be most interested in this development," the demon said.

"Like hell," Dean snapped and whipped his angel blade up, slamming it into the demon's chest. It gasped and its eyes sparked orange before it collapsed to the ground.

Like a wave, the souls fell on the fallen demon, and began tearing it apart. Shrieking and cackling in a morbid joy.

"Dean, let's go!" Sam cried, and grabbed his shoulder, hauling him further down the hallway.

Dean didn't need any more urging. He pounded after his brother until they were free of the chamber, once again out in a dark corridor. They ran until they were far away in a dark cave, where hopefully no more demons would find them, and then they both collapsed, exhausted, panting for breath.

Once he had pulled enough oxygen into his lungs, tinted with ash at it may be, Dean finally looked up at Sam and saw the bloody tears in his clothes, scratches along one side of his face and neck.

"Those bastards," Dean muttered, before he took stock of his own injuries, which were even worse. He peeled his jacket open, seeing bloody tears in his t-shirt all over his chest and stomach and back. Some had even torn though his coat sleeves and his jeans. He raised a hand to his throat and felt more blood there, and more dripping down the side of his face. Sam swallowed hard and hurriedly pulled a bottle of water from his pack, wetting a kerchief, and started to wipe the blood from Dean's face.

Dean didn't want his brother's sympathy, though, and he caught his wrist. "Stop. You're just wasting our water supply."

"You're a mess, Dean," Sam said, pain written all over his face. He saw how Sam's hand was shaking, and wondered if it was because of what had happened to them, or because of what had been revealed back there about what Dean had been in Hell.

"I don't want your sympathy," Dean said darkly. "I don't deserve it."

Sam's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Dean, no, you can't say that."

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean choked out. "You heard them back there. Those were the souls I tortured. I remember some of their faces. I remember the feel of their blood on my hands…" He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "Alastair always told me their crimes. Some of them were genuinely bad people, and I enjoyed taking those apart, I did. But I enjoyed the others too after a while. It was a hell of a lot easier than being under Alastair's knife."

"Dean," Sam said softly. "You already told me what happened in Hell. I know, I know what you did, and I know you still beat yourself up about it. But the fact is you did what you had to do to survive. And the fact that you do feel remorse now, is a testament to the kind of person you really are."

"I just have so much blood on my hands," Dean gasped, looking down at them now clenched in his lap. "And now all those scars are reopened. Everything I did…" His breath hitched on a sob he could no longer contain. "Sammy, I'm no better than any of them."

"Yes, you are, Dean," Sam said gently. "You saved the world. Remember what Cas said before? You were going to get off the rack anyway, it was destined. But you still fought the rest of it, and without you, I never would have been able to stop Lucifer."

"I didn't have to like it," Dean said, pain, and guilt, and disgust rising in his chest. "I didn't…I didn't have to like it."

Sam didn't say anything. Dean buried his face in his hands, feeling ashamed as hot tears tracked over the cuts on his face, stinging. He wondered if his brother was finally going to give up on him, but even if Sam didn't have any words for him, he settled an arm firmly around Dean's shoulders as he sat beside him. Dean didn't even move it, and Sam kept it there for as long as Dean needed to cool down, trying his best to purge all his memories and find a way to get back on his feet.

~~~~~~~

Castiel felt like he didn't even have the energy to scream anymore. The burns Samyaza had inflicted on his body—and worse, on his wings—with the holy fire were truly the most agonizing thing he had felt yet, even after everything he had already been through. He had already given up trying to support his body weight, slumped halfway to the floor as the chains pulled at his wrists and wings. Rivulets of blood dripped down his arms from where his struggling had opened his wrists, but he didn't care.

Samyaza strode over to him, and Castiel saw his boots stop in front of his face. He grunted wordlessly as the Grigori grabbed his chin and forced his head up.

"I told you there would be pain beyond anything," the other angel said blandly. "Do you feel cleansed, Castiel?"

Castiel didn't know what to say. Truly, he just felt wretched. Alone. Deserted. But he was so numb to anything but the pain, perhaps he felt repentant as well, he just wasn't sure yet. He already regretted pushing Samyaza to this, so he figured that was close enough.

He nodded slightly, once.

Samyaza cocked his head to one side, but didn't call him out. He took his grip on Castiel's chin away, but stayed standing in front of him.

"I will call that progress then," he said. "Because of that, I will give you a small reward for your trials."

Castiel couldn't care less. There was nothing his captor could give him that would qualify as a reward. He didn't move, didn't look up, and Samyaza paused for a while, obviously waiting for some reaction. When he didn't get it, he huffed and then said, "I will let you see the Winchesters one last time before the next stage of your true penance starts."

Castiel somehow found it in himself to lift his head. Samyaza looked somewhat pleased by his reaction. Castiel wasn't sure he wanted this, but at the same time…getting to see Sam and Dean, knowing they were safe—hopefully—and having one last image of them…it could only help him.

"Close your eyes," Samyaza instructed him, and Castiel did as he was told. Samyaza pressed two fingers to his forehead and Castiel's vision swirled until it cleared on a familiar scene.

He was viewing the scene as if he were standing outside the window of Bobby Singer's house, looking into the kitchen where Sam and Dean and the older hunter were preparing to have a meal. Sam was reading, sharing something with Bobby from one of the books stacked next to his elbow, and Dean was mocking them for their scholarly pursuits as he cooked something on the stove. Hamburgers, Castiel saw as Dean grabbed plates and buns and started to construct the sandwiches.

Sam said something snarky about the lack of vegetables, and Dean pointed out the lettuce and tomato. Bobby grumbled and called them idjits as he stood up. He smacked them both good-naturedly on the back of the head, and grabbed beers from the fridge, passing them around.

Dean grinned as he sat down to the meal, popping open his bottle, then clinking it good-naturedly against Sam's before they both took a drink.

The familiar scene should have made Castiel happy, and in ways, it did, because they were okay, the world didn't seem to be in chaos, and the Winchesters, even Bobby, looked happy.

Happier than they had in a long time.

Samyaza was suddenly in the vision as well, at Castiel's shoulder.

"See, Castiel, it's just as I told you. They are perfectly fine—happier even—without you around. Can you imagine how a broken, wicked little quisling like you would fit into that scene?"

The Grigori motioned with a hand and the scene shifted suddenly, to Dean sitting alone at the table, a bottle of whisky in front of him, nearly empty. He looked exhausted, bitter, and then Castiel saw himself walk into the room, hesitant, stopping in the doorway.

"Dean," he said quietly, nearly pleading.

"Get the hell away from me, Cas," Dean snapped. "I told you I don't want to hear it."

Castiel's head dropped. "Please, I just…"

"He said leave him alone," Sam added, pushing into the kitchen to stand beside his brother almost protectively. "In fact, just…go somewhere else for a while. I don't even want to look at you after what you did."

"I'm sorry," Castiel sighed wretchedly.

"Just go," Dean muttered, turning back to his bottle and pouring the rest of it into his glass.

Castiel watched his image leave the room, shoulders slumped, and then Samyaza froze the scene.

"See? You wouldn't belong. You would only cause your friends more pain and suffering." He switched back to the previous scene, the 'real-time' scene he had shown Castiel before. "Look how happy they are now that you're not there to destroy their lives. I told you it was better this way."

Castiel felt like a dagger had been driven through his heart. He wanted to protest, shook his head. "No, that's not…"

"It's true, and you know it, Castiel," Samyaza said harshly, but not really unkindly. "It's as I said. Humans are fickle. That is why you should never fall for them. They will only cast you aside when they no longer have use of you."

Castiel hung his head. "I—I've seen enough."

"Very well."

Castiel was suddenly back in the chamber in Hell. Every ache crashed back down on his shoulders and he gasped. But the physical pain was nothing compared to what he felt inside. The deep, crushing agony that threatened to squeeze his lungs and his heart until they turned to dust. Tears were streaming down his face before he realized it.

"There now, Castiel," Samyaza said quietly, crouching in front of him. "Can you forget your little fantasies of going back to the Winchesters now? Can you move on, and truly concentrate on your penance?"

Castiel took a shuddering breath, a crushing weight on his shoulders. He wanted to protest, but had no strength. Especially since he knew Samyaza was right, had seen it for himself. Perhaps before he had been delusional in thinking he could find a place with the Winchesters. Dean had even called him brother at one point, but perhaps he had never meant it. After all, Dean had given up on him easily enough afterward, something he never would have done with Sam. Castiel could see it now, just how many falsehoods he had told himself in regards to his relationship with the Winchesters. Maybe this was kinder in a way. Maybe this was better for all of them.

"Yes," he whispered with a shuddering breath, choking on a sob he couldn't contain.

"Good," Samyaza said with a firm nod and settled a hand on top of Castiel's head, stroking his hair once. "It will be easier from here, Castiel. I promise."

Castiel had nothing to say. In fact, he didn't think he would ever be able to bring himself to feel anything ever again.


	7. Tartarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tartarus
> 
> (The Abyss. A Pit of Torment and Suffering)

It took Dean an embarrassingly long time to pull himself together after the incident with the souls. But Sam didn't say anything, he just stayed there as a silent support and for once didn't try to get Dean to talk. Maybe now that he had finally seen what it was really like, he understood a little better what Dean had gone through. Perhaps in that way, this hadn't been a bad thing at all.

But they had to move on eventually, and Dean hauled himself to his feet, and pushed the incident in the torture chamber to the back of his mind, focusing on the images he had seen in his dreams of Cas. They were here to rescue their friend, and the longer it took them, the longer he was suffering. Dean didn't have time to sit around crying about things he couldn't change.

"We need to keep going," he told Sam gruffly as they packed up again.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked him quietly, concern on his face.

"No," Dean said truthfully, surprising both of them. "But I can't sit here anymore feeling sorry for myself. We gotta save Cas."

Sam nodded once, and hauled his pack over his shoulder, as they once again started off, following the signals from Dean's scar.

It was several more long hours of travel when the whole atmosphere got ashier, and hotter. Eventually, they were forced to stop and strip to their t-shirts since it was just too suffocating wearing their usual three layers. They tried to ration their water better since they were nearly a third of the way through their supply, but their throats were so dry and raw, they would choke if they didn't wet them periodically.

"This is more like what I pictured," Sam said, wiping sweat off his forehead and leaving a grimy smear there. The ash was thick in the air and was coating their skin, sticking to the sweat.

"Yeah, me too, actually," Dean said. "I'm guessing we're approaching the fiery pit portion of Hell."

"I don't…remember being in the Cage," Sam said and Dean tensed, still afraid that if he remembered too much, his head would explode. "But I remember that when we met Lucifer in Detroit, he said he burned cold. I'm guessing…that this probably isn't the part of Hell he's in."

Dean could detect a certain amount of relief in Sam's voice and he felt it too. After his own blast from the past, he hadn't really considered them running into Lucifer, figuring that the Cage was buried so deep it was kept way out of the way of anything, but if a little heat could make Sam feel better about that, then he would take it.

"I guess that's one thing to be thankful for," he muttered, wiping more sweat out of his eyes.

The whole place started to take on a deep red and orange glow, and as they came out of a passageway, they stopped, looking down in awe, at what lay ahead of them.

"Well, what do you know," Dean gulped. "It's an actual fiery pit."

And it was. A vast one. And not the typical adventure movie grade lava pit either, this was made up of actual flames, eternally burning through supernatural means, licking up the sides of the pit as if trying their best to escape, looking alive.

"Hellfire," Sam breathed.

The ash coated the air, filling their lungs. Dean took out a kerchief and tied it over his mouth and nose to better breathe. Sam followed suit. It made it a little better, though they had nothing to protect their eyes with, and the heat alone was scalding their skin even from this distance.

"What do we do?" Sam asked. "Which way are we going?"

Dean checked the Cas radar and shrugged helplessly. "Straight ahead, I guess."

"How?"

"Hell if I know."

They looked around trying to find a pathway, and then Sam spotted exactly what they were looking for. "Dean, there."

Dean squinted. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

There was a rickety bridge that went right across the pit of fire. Sure, in theory it might work, but damn.

"Dean, I don't see another way across," Sam said.

"This is insane," Dean muttered, but really, this was feeding into two of his greatest fears: fire, and heights. Not a great combo. Hell seemed determined to hit all the highlights.

But he was following Sam toward the end of the bridge all the same. If Cas had gone down here twice and survived for them, angel or not, then they could do it too. They had to. Dean was determined not to die before he made up with his best friend.

"Just don't look down," Sam told him.

"Yeah, great advice, Sammy," Dean scoffed, but wasn't actually upset as Sam moved out onto the bridge first this time, no rock, paper, scissors needed.

Up here, above the flames, the heat was unbearable. It pressed in on all sides like a vice, punching the breath from Dean's lungs. The kerchief over his mouth made him feel even more suffocated, but he knew if he took it off he would only choke on the ash that was so thick in the air, he could barely see ten feet ahead of him. Actually, in retrospect, that was probably a good thing, because they were a hell of a long way up, with nothing but leaping flames underneath them.

Then it turned out there were fireballs too.

One came out of nowhere and struck Sam in the shoulder. He cried out, and Dean surged forward to help slap it out. Thankfully, Sam's backpack had taken the brunt of the blow, but there was still a burned spot on the back of his t-shirt sleeve.

"Keep going, quick," Dean urged his brother, pushing him along.

They hurried as fast as they could, but the bridge swayed under their weight, and the boards were so hot, the rubble soles of their boots were getting squishy. Dean wondered how the boards didn't just burn.

Then another burst of flame surged up from below and seared across Dean's thigh.

"Gah!" he cried out, leaping to one side instinctively.

"Dean!" Sam cried and grabbed him by his backpack strap before Dean stumbled into the railing of the bridge, which probably wouldn't have kept him up there for long. Dean held his breath, teetering on one foot before Sam yanked him away from the precarious position and forward several steps. Dean's leg burned, and he saw a blackened hole in his jeans where the fire had licked him, but it could have been so much worse. He could have fallen into the pit itself.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, just keep going," Dean urged breathlessly, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Sam didn't need any more urging. They hustled the last hundred feet, and finally got onto solid ground again. They both collapsed, and took a celebratory drink to clear their throat of the ash that had gotten past their bandanas.

Dean panted, rubbing sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt. "That was close. Too damn many times."

Sam nodded in agreement and winced as he shifted his shoulder. There wasn't anything they could do about the burns right now though. They were both pretty messed up on multiple levels, but they could deal with that later once they got Cas and brought him back topside.

"Come on, little brother," Dean said, forcing himself back to his feet and reaching down to help Sam up. "We have to keep going. No time to stop now."

With a weary nod, Sam allowed Dean to help pull him to his feet, and they started off again away from the pit of fire.

It was still warm in this part of Hell, but at least their skin wasn't practically burning off the further they went, and they could finally take the bandanas off their mouths as the ash began to clear back to normal Hell grade. Now their issues seemed to be that it was getting darker and darker in the surroundings. They were back in a series of tunnels and Dean thought they might be going even further underground as they seemed to be traveling at a steady downward slope. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but if anything, the tingles in his scar were only getting stronger, more of an insistent buzz now, and he hoped that was an indication that they might be getting closer.

He did know that his entire body hurt, now with an added limp due to the bad burn in his thigh, and Sam was flagging too.

Pretty soon, they stopped for rest in a place they thought was safe enough. Dean took first watch and Sam slumped over instantly, head pillowed on his pack, asleep almost as soon as he had gotten horizontal.

Dean munched some beef jerky while he waited. He wasn't really hungry, but he ate anyway to keep his strength up. Time was screwy down here anyway. Even though he knew more time had passed down here than it had up top, he was still wondering how many Hell days they had been through. It was easy to tell when his days were marked by Alastair's sessions, but they'd only stopped to sleep twice down here so far, even though it felt like a lot longer than twenty-four hours in between the two breaks, and probably had been in Hell time.

When he was reaching what he felt to be the four-hour mark, he was about to wake Sam up, when something in the shadows to his right caught his attention. Some kind of shuffling, almost leathery sound.

Instincts on alert, Dean grabbed his gun and knife, flashlight held against the barrel of his gun for good measure, and stood up, cautiously going over to see what was lurking in the shadows.

He was beginning to think he had just imagined it when a guttural shriek pierced his ears and something flew out of the shadows at him.

Dean didn't waste any time. He simply tapped out three rounds with his pistol and the thing slammed into the dirt at his feet.

"Dean!"

That obviously woke Sam up and the younger Winchester was at Dean's side instantly.

"What the hell was that?" Sam demanded, looking frazzled.

"I don't know, something came out of the shadows," Dean said and shined his flashlight down on the thing at his feet, revealing leathery skin and some kind of bat-looking wings. He frowned, kicking the thing over so he could see its face.

"Ugh, what kind of fugly is this?" he demanded.

It was a shriveled, ugly thing, with vaguely feminine features, and leathery bat wings. "Bathag?" Dean guessed, wrinkling his nose.

"Um, no," Sam said as he crouched to look at the thing closer, pulling out his own flashlight and revealing the thing's feet which had long sharp claws protruding from them. "I think…it's a harpy."

"So, bathag," Dean concluded, rubbing a hand over his face. "Really? Harpies?"

"Well, harpies are a staple of the Underworld in Greek mythology. If we ran into Eurynomos and possibly one of the rivers of the underworld, then I'm actually surprised we haven't run into harpies before that."

"Wait, so if there's harpies here, then what about other stuff like Medusa and the Minotaur?" Dean asked, suddenly wishing for demons and hellhounds again.

"Well, I guess it's possible we could run into other gorgons," Sam said slowly. "But Perseus killed Medusa in the old stories so I don't think she'll be coming back personally. And the Minotaur was from the Labyrinth on Crete, so I doubt we'll have him to worry about. But there are a lot of other things we could bump into, in theory."

"Okay, you know what? I don't want to know," Dean told him. "Let's just keep going in case more bathags show up."

"Harpies," Sam corrected before Dean shot him a look.

They gathered their packs again and started off through the tunnels. It was definitely pitch black, and without their flashlights they would have been blind. They were heading farther away from 'Hell Proper' again, which made Dean slightly uneasy. He had expected to find Cas among the other prisoners, but…maybe not. He had begun to conclude that Crowley probably hadn't had anything to do with this, since the demon likely would have had the angel put into a public place and would have possibly even expected Sam and Dean to show up at some point because—didn't they always? But if Cas had been put down here by the angels, punished like Lucifer had been…then maybe they had sequestered him far away where Crowley wouldn't even know about him. And there had been an angel torturing him in Dean's visions, so maybe there was a place in Hell reserved especially for fallen angels.

Dammit, Cas, Dean said internally, not sure if he were praying directly to the angel or not. You know you were never broken like they said you were. You can't let those dicks get the better of you now.

The tunnel they had been traveling down suddenly opened into a large cave and Dean breathed a silent breath of relief. Even if none of the tunnels had been as tight as that one on their way in, he still wasn't a big fan of dark, cramped spaces.

That was until he heard shuffling and leathery sounds coming from all over the big cave.

"Dean, do you hear that?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah," Dean replied grimly. "You don't think—"

Before he got a chance to voice what he thought, several things swooped down with raucous screams and nabbed Sam as they went. He shouted in surprise as he was torn off his feet, and began to be lifted into the air.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed and leapt up, grabbing the back of Sam's belt, hauling him back down with all his weight. In the flashes of Sam's wildly flailing flashlight, Dean could see that his attackers were indeed more harpies.

"Let him go, you bathags!" Dean shouted at the creatures, risking letting Sam go with one hand to grab the gun from his belt.

Before he could decide whether he could even get a clear shot without risk of hitting Sam, another several harpies flew out of the darkness and slammed into him, causing him to lose his grip on Sam. One tried to pick him up too, but they only grabbed his backpack, which he shrugged out of immediately, and whipped around to shoot the harpy that had it, bringing the ugly creature down. Dean snagged his pack, knowing they couldn't lose Hermes' staff now, and spun around to see where Sam was.

"Dean!" Sam cried, halfway up the side of the cave wall on a nook that looked like a nest. Harpies were flocking all over him, working themselves up into a frenzy, their shrieks piercing Dean's eardrums as they echoed off the cave walls. Sam cried out as they began to tear into him with their claws and Dean was already running over to find a way up.

"Hold on, Sammy!" He cried. He heard angry harpy cries too, and knew Sam had at least a knife on him. One fell over the side of the ledge, dead, a stab wound in its chest. At least they weren't hard to kill.

Dean began scaling the wall, but had to fight off harpies as they attacked him while he was doing his best to find hand and footholds. He nearly slipped several times, and eventually took out his gun again, shooting the harpies that were after him as he made the final push up to the ledge where they had Sam, probably about to eat him alive.

He pulled his blade out instead so as not to accidently shoot Sam in the close quarters and fell on the flock of harpies with a primal yell. He stabbed, and punched and kicked as he tore through them, trying to uncover his brother. Finally, he kicked the last one off the ledge, and stabbed one more that was still squirming before he finally turned to Sam.

The kid was a mess, having curled into a ball, arms protecting his head and eyes. His back was slashed up with claw marks, his shirt bloody, but thankfully they all seemed to just be superficial wounds.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean muttered as he helped his brother sit up with a cringe, pulling his shirt up gingerly to check the injuries. "Those bitches really did a number on you."

"Yeah, took you long enough to get here," Sam said and reached over to retrieve his knife which was stuck in a dead harpy lying off to one side. He tugged it free with a look of malice.

"Well, looks like we took out the whole flock, or what was here, anyway," Dean said.

Sam grabbed his discarded backpack and groaned as he picked it up and found it was torn to pieces, useless. "Great."

"It's okay, we'll just throw the most important stuff in mine. Let's just get out of here."

They quickly packed stuff in Dean's bag and then used some rope they had brought to rappel back down the side of the cave. Once back at the cave floor, Dean checked their bearings and pointed to one side.

"There, that's the way," he said certainly.

They started off through yet another dark tunnel—at least they still had their flashlights. Sam was lagging a little, obviously in a lot of pain, but Dean wasn't going to make a stop yet. Not when they couldn't be sure more harpies wouldn't come after them in revenge for their dead comrades. But if Sam seemed to be in too much pain, Dean was willing to take a break to see if he could patch him up at all.

After a few more bends of the tunnel, the tingling in his shoulder turned into a more insistent burn. He grunted, and clapped his hand over the scar, halting.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked, nearly running into his back. "Were you hurt?"

"No, it's just my scar," he muttered. "It's burning now. I—I think we're getting close."

"Then let's go!" Sam insisted.

They pushed forward and soon, Dean saw a glow in the tunnel up ahead, flickering like fire. Trepidation twisted in his stomach as his scar burned more and more. The tunnel seemed to be widening too.

"Sam, turn your light off," he said, not sure what they would find up ahead as he flicked his own flashlight off and tucked it into his pocket. Sam did the same and they stepped forward down the last few yards of the tunnel before they came out into a room, lit by torches and various braziers scattered around.

The smell of blood and burned feathers hit Dean like a brick wall and he staggered to a stop just inside the room as his eyes found the figure kneeling right in the middle of it.

He was covered in blood, his wings were in tatters, and his head was bowed toward his chest, but Dean would know him anywhere, even without the burn in his shoulder telling him he'd reached his destination.

"Cas," he choked out.


	8. Philia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philia
> 
> (The unconditional love and loyalty between friends)

Dean almost couldn't believe it. They had actually found Cas, after all this time. Dean might never have doubted they would find him but still…having him here now, alive, if not undamaged, was more than he ever could have hoped for.

"Oh my god, Dean," Sam choked out, gripping Dean's shoulder as if for support. When Dean finally tore his eyes from Cas to look at his brother, he saw Sam looking like he was trying to keep from vomiting, and Dean understood. He felt the same way, but there wasn't time for that. They had to get Cas out of here, especially since it looked like he was alone for now.

Dean swallowed hard, forcing himself into motion. "Come on." He pulled Sam over to the chained figure. Cas was forced into a kneeling position, his arms and wings chained and spread out to either side. Dean was almost sick again as he saw the wounds and blood covering the angel's bare torso, and the ground around him, which was also littered with feathers and the ash of burned ones.

"Dean, this is…" Sam tried, but couldn't continue. He swallowed wetly, blinking tears from his eyes as he ran a hand helplessly through his hair. Dean realized then that Sam hadn't even seen what Dean had seen before. This had to be even more of a shock for him.

"Look for something to unlock these chains," Dean told him firmly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Of course, Cas' wings…those were a different story, but they would figure that out too.

Sam nodded, looking glad to have a job to do.

Dean crouched down in front of Cas and gently cupped his face in his hands, lifting it upward away from his chest.

"Cas?" he called tentatively. "Cas, come on, buddy, wake up."

His face was covered in cuts and blood from other injuries, and what seemed even worse, there were tear tracks running through the blood. Dean had never seen the angel cry, and the fact that he had felt so much pain and despair here that he had wept like that…it tore Dean apart.

"Cas, wake up," he pleaded, shaking him slightly.

Cas' breath hitched, and his eyes began to slide open. He groaned and then coughed raggedly as if his throat was raw.

Dean swallowed hard and instantly shrugged his pack off, grabbing a water bottle. He cracked it open and brought it to Cas' lips.

"Drink," he coaxed.

Cas moaned and tried to turn his head aside, but Dean cupped his chin and dribbled some water between his dry and bloody lips in the hopes of tempting him. "Its just water. Drink."

Cas' lips parted then and Dean tipped the bottle more as Cas drank, then drank some more, gulping the water, until Dean had to pull it away so he wouldn't choke.

"Easy," he said, as Cas gulped in air now. Dean looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Sam," he called, and the younger hunter was instantly at his side, crouching next to him as they watched Cas open his eyes, blinking blearily at them.

"Cas," Sam breathed. "Hey." He raised a hand as if to touch Cas, but pulled it away, unsure of where to put it.

Cas' eyes focused, and then a look of pain crossed his face and he took a shuddering breath. "No…please, Samyaza, I promise I will serve penance, just…do not torment me like this. Please."

Dean instantly felt hatred for this 'Samyaza' dick, who was probably the one who had been torturing Cas. Instead, he shifted one of his hands to grip the back of Cas' neck firmly, trying to anchor him. "Cas, it's really us. It's Dean and Sam. We came to get you out of here."

"Dean and Sam don't want me," Cas whispered. "They're better off without a broken aberration lying around."

Sam and Dean shared a horrified look.

"Cas, don't say that," Sam said, reaching out to touch the other side of his face gently. "We came all this way to bring you back! Of course we want you!"

Cas took a shuddering breath, shaking his head. Dean swallowed hard, and gently nudged Sam aside as he firmly took Cas' face between his hands again.

"Cas, look at me," he pleaded and when the angel refused, his repeated it more firmly. This time, Cas opened his eyes and met Dean's though only half-heartedly. "Cas, I promise you, this is real. I don't know what they've done to you here, but I know what goes on in Hell, I know how they can mess with your head. But you gotta believe this is real."

"How?" Cas demanded, a bitter note to his voice. "In what world would the Winchesters ever come for me?"

Dean felt the words like a punch to the gut, but admitted they were well-deserved. "Look, Cas, I know what I said before…the way I handled it…well, putting it mildly, I was a dick. And you did not deserve that. And I'm sorry, I am so sorry for not helping you when you needed it, for making you believe you had to do things by yourself, and then demanding you help us with our problems all the same. We all messed up, man, me most of all, and I will never forgive myself for this. Because all this that's happened to you, it's on me. Because I couldn't sack up and go talk to my friend when he needed me most."

Cas let out a humorless laugh. "Now I know I'm hallucinating. Dean Winchester, apologizing to me."

"Dammit, Cas," Dean growled, and shifted, grabbing one of Cas' manacled hands and bending it more violently than he had intended, but he had to get his point across if he were to save his friend. He yanked his sleeve up, baring his scar and shoved Cas' hand against it. "It's me, Cas. Do you believe me now?"

Dean felt a small jolt of energy go through him as he pressed Cas' hand against the scar and Cas' fingers twitched against him. His head lifted of it's own accord, as his eyes found Dean's, wide with disbelief.

"D-Dean?" he breathed, then turned to Sam. "Sam? Is it really you?"

"You know it is," Dean told him firmly, then moved back to crouch in front of the angel. "Now what do you say we get you out of here?"

Cas just shook his head, sorrow, and maybe even a little regret, but mostly resignation came over his face. "Dean…I can't. I must stay here."

"Why the hell would you say that?" Dean demanded.

"Because of what I did!" Cas snapped. "I have to serve my penance! What I did in Heaven, what I did to you, to Sam…" he glanced over at the younger Winchester with pain in his eyes. "Dean, this is the only way I can atone. I know you don't understand it now, but…"

"Of course I don't understand!" Dean snapped. "Cas, I've been to Hell. I know what it's like down here, and I know how they tear at you, manipulate you. But let me tell you, that there is nothing that you have done to deserve this. So what if the other angels think you need to serve 'penance' or whatever kind of crap? You don't belong here! You belong we me and Sam. Team Free Will, remember?"

Cas took a shuddering breath before he met Dean's eyes again. "Once, that was where I believed I belonged. But now, I see I never had a place with you and Sam. Not truly. I am better off here, and you are better off without me."

"Cas, no," Sam insisted. "That's not going to happen. We're taking you home!"

"Castiel is right. He's right where he belongs."

Dean whipped around and saw the angel from his nightmares, the one with the tattered, chained wings who had tortured Cas.

"You," Dean growled and started forward, angel blade in hand, only to be caught in an invisible vice as the angel raised his hand, almost lazily.

"Dean!" Cas cried out as Dean began to choke, unable even to breath. "Samyaza, please, don't hurt them! Sam, stand down!"

The angel kept hold of Dean for a few more seconds, but then finally released the mojo, leaving Dean gasping for breath.

"Dean, put the knife away," Cas pleaded, sounding almost terrified.

Dean didn't want to, it went against everything he believe in, but Cas was so frantic, he found he had to comply, tucking his angel blade into the back of his belt. But that didn't mean he didn't glare daggers at this Samyaza as he backed up to stand between the evil angel and Cas, Sam at his shoulder.

"I'm actually rather impressed," Samyaza said, cocking his head and looking between the Winchesters as if they were museum pieces. "Surprised, really. I didn't think you'd go to these lengths. But then, I did see what you were capable of when I searched Castiel's memories. Still, I have to ask, why do two mortals traverse the darkest depths of Hell just for one, fallen angel?"

"Because he's our friend," Sam said firmly. "Our family."

Samyaza cocked an eyebrow, nonplussed.

"Exactly," Dean growled in agreement. "Which is why we'll be taking the keys and getting him the hell out of here, thank you very much." He crossed over to a table of torture implements, searching through them for the key to Cas' manacles.

"Oh, there is no key," Samyaza told him.

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded.

"I mean that Castiel can leave with you easily enough, if he wishes. But those chains will only unlock if he truly wants to go."

Dean's eyes widened as he looked between Samyaza and Cas, and the chains locked onto his wings. "What the hell does that mean, of course he wants to go!"

"Do you, Castiel?" Samyaza asked, striding forward. "Or do you wish to stay here and serve out your penance? Like you deserve."

"Cas, come on," Dean coaxed, trying not to be too pushy, but seriously, what the hell was going on with Cas?

Cas looked up slowly, his face so creased with pain and sorrow Dean wanted to punch something, preferably the angels responsible for putting Cas here in the first place.

"What's the point of going back?" he asked tiredly. "I'll only screw up again."

"No, Cas, you can't say that," Sam cut in. "Come on, man, Dean and I have done things just as bad before, you can't just give up on yourself. This isn't the answer."

"Cas, do you really think you deserve for this to happen to you?" Dean demanded.

Cas met his eyes, a haunted look in them. "Don't you?" he asked gruffly.

Dean's eyes widened. "No, Cas, I don't!"

"Not even for what I did to Sam?" Cas demanded, almost pleading. "For making you lose Lisa and Ben?"

Dean swallowed hard, but shook his head firmly. "No, Cas, I don't," he repeated.

"Nor do I," Sam said gently. "Sure, you broke my wall, but you came back to fix me when you hardly had any energy left. And I know you didn't purposefully pull me out of the Cage without my soul."

"Cas, this penance, cleansing through pain, crap…that doesn't fix anything," Dean coaxed. "I know that's all you've been taught, I know that's all you could ever expect from your family in Heaven, but, man, you don't need them anymore. Come home with us. You're our family now."

"Cas, the only way you can fix your mistakes, is to just do all you can to not make the same ones again," Sam offered. "I should know. I've made a crapton of them. Just…come back, and let us start over together. It can be like a clean slate. For all of us."

Cas bit his lip so hard, Dean thought it would start bleeding. "I—I don't know how to let this go…" he said miserably, but Dean heard the silent plea in his voice.

Dean crouched in front of him. "You just let it go, Cas," he said gently. "I know it's hard, but you don't deserve this. Trust me. I mean, you saved the world, man. You may have done bad stuff, but like Sam said, we all have. The point is that your heart was in the right place. And hell, I know—I know—how bad things can go when your heart is in the right place." He took a shuddering breath and took Cas' face between his hands again. "So come on, just let it go. Let it go, and come home, brother."

Something, a small flicker of hope, lit deep in Cas' eyes, and Dean watched in surprise as the links that had been driven through his wings, as well as the manacles around his wrists, opened, releasing the captive angel completely.

Cas gave a shuddering cry and slumped forward, unable to bear his own weight, but Dean was there to catch him, and supported him as the angel collapsed against his chest.

It's okay, it's okay, Cas, I gotcha," Dean muttered, one hand cupping the back of Cas' head, and breathing a sigh of relief himself.

"You foolish little idiot."

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Samyaza sneering at Cas. Sam was at Dean's side, ready to help, so Dean simply turned the angel's care over to his brother, and stood to fully face the other angel.

"How long do you really think they will keep you?" Samyaza mocked, still addressing Cas. "You're cut off, Castiel, your grace is pitiful at best; you're completely worthless."

"No, he's not, you son of a bitch," Dean said coldly, jaw twitching with anger. "It doesn't matter what state Cas is in. He's family. He's our family. And that's all that matters."

"Listen to you," Samyaza sneered. "You make such promises, but you're just like all the other hairless apes. Sure, you might nurse him back to health, and then what? What good is a broken angel to you?"

"You know, I don't know about you, Cas, but I'm getting real tired of this guy's bullshit," Dean said, glancing over his shoulder at Cas and Sam.

"You insolent little—"

Samyaza didn't get the chance to finish though, because as he strode toward Dean, the hunter took out his angel blade and buried it deep into the angel's chest. Samyaza gave a startled gasp, then threw back his head, eyes flaring a dark black, a color Dean had never seen an angel explode in before, and then collapsed onto the ground, dead. The chains on his wings came undone, clinking to the floor, with a small flare of runes.

Dean didn't give the body a second look, only turned and strode over to where Sam had gotten Cas to his feet, and had wrapped one arm over his shoulders, supporting Cas as well as he could.

"Dean…" Cas said wearily.

"Don't," Dean replied. "You know he deserved it."

Cas sighed, but didn't argue. Dean took up position on his other side, and soon he and Sam were supporting their friend between them.

"Come on," Dean said. "Let's get the hell out of here."

With Cas held tightly between them, they moved off as quickly as they could through the dark tunnels.

"Where are we even going?" Sam asked as they had to turn sideways to get the three of them through a narrow passage. "Dean, we can't take him back the way we came in. Not if he can't walk."

Dean glanced at the angel dragging between them. He was conscious, but barely able to move, and even their supporting arms were hurting him.

"There are…other ways…out," Cas said, between heavy gasps. "How'd you…get in?"

Dean stopped them and shifted his pack to reach in and find the staff of Hermes, bringing it out to show Cas. "This."

Some relief shown in Cas' eyes. "Good, it will…show you a way. Just…think about where you want to go."

Dean frowned, but held the staff in front of him and, oddly enough, he felt a small tug on it, like some kind of divining rod. He grinned in relief. "Got it! This way."

Just like following the tingles in his scar, he followed the tugs of the staff as Sam lit the way with a flashlight, and they practically carried Cas between them. Dean tried to ignore the blood seeping into his shirt where his side was pressed against Cas', how his bare arm slipped in the blood and sweat on Cas' back where he had it wrapped underneath the angel's wings. There would be time to patch Cas up once they got back topside, right now they needed to concentrate on getting out in case there was someone to find Samyaza's body.

Still, it was rough going. He and Sam weren't exactly in top condition either, and their own wounds were aching, making bearing Cas' weight that much harder, but they would do it. After all there was the whole 'he ain't heavy' thing, right?

Then Cas groaned, and gripped the back of Dean's shirt. "Dean, something's coming."

"What?" Dean demanded, looking over his shoulder, and then he heard it. The sounds of howling beasts.

"Hellhounds!" Sam cried.

"Cas, can you run?" Dean asked.

"I'll try," Cas gasped and Dean and Sam sped up, practically carrying Cas along with them while he helped as much as he could.

But the hellhounds were still gaining, and even though Dean felt the tugs on the staff more insistently, he knew they weren't going to get to the exit in time.

"Sam, gun!" he cried.

Sam, fumbled for his gun and looked over his shoulder as they could hear the hellhounds tearing down the tunnel toward them. Cas craned his head as well.

"Sam, five o'clock," he gasped out.

Sam shot, and the bang was accompanied by a yelp and a splatter of black blood on the tunnel wall.

"Six o'clock!" Cas cried out again.

Sam shot several more as Dean kept them going in the right direction, trying not to lose his grip on Cas. "Come on, not far now!" he cried. "I think I see something up ahead!"

They came to a sudden stop as they were faced with a steep incline with a tunnel opening at the top.

"Son of a bitch," Dean gasped as Sam shot another hellhound. They were still coming though, and Dean didn't think they were about to stop, so they had to take action. Now!

"Sam, go!" Dean told him, stuffing the staff into his pack again and pulling out his own gun, shooting several times into the tunnel behind them, gaining several more hits.

Sam didn't argue, leaving Dean to bear Cas' weight as he took a running leap and scrambled up the incline. He almost slipped twice, but managed to get up, and then got onto his stomach, reaching his hands down as far as he could.

"Cas!" he called.

"Alright, up you get," Dean told the angel, and made a stirrup of his hands to boost the angel up.

Cas stuck his foot into Dean's hands, wobbled slightly, and reached up for Sam as the younger Winchester grabbed one of his hands. Then Cas looked over his shoulder.

"Dean!" he cried. "On your left!"

Dean spun, bringing his gun up, but before he could shoot, the hound plowed into him, smashing him into the side of the tunnel. Dean hit his head, dazed, but shook it off as he heard Cas and Sam cry out. He cleared his vision and saw something invisible tugging viciously on one of Cas' wings.

"Dean!" Sam cried, but Dean was already leveling his gun, and emptying his clip into the hellhound. It yelped pitifully, and fell in a pile of blood.

Sam hauled Cas the rest of the way up, as the angel moaned in pain, and then Sam reached down again.

"Come on!" he shouted.

Dean heard more hounds coming and didn't need another incentive. He tucked his gun into his waistband, took a flying leap, and snatched Sam's waiting hands, just as he could feel the hot breath of the hellhounds on the backs of his legs. Sam hauled him up and they collapsed at the top of the tunnel, panting heavily.

Dean groaned, rolling onto his front so he could push himself up. "I friggin' hate hellhounds."

"At least it wasn't harpies," Sam said and Dean groaned again.

"Come on," he grunted and staggered upright, leaning over to help Cas to his feet. "You good?"

"I'm not…much worse…" Cas said a bit wryly.

"Well, that's something, I guess," Dean muttered as he and Sam wrapped their arms around their friend again and continued on their way.

This tunnel dead-ended at something that looked like a metal door. Dean frowned, and looked for a doorknob. "Okay…"

"Dude, use the staff. It got us in," Sam said.

Dean shrugged. Pulling the staff from his pack he pointed it toward the door and all of a sudden, a lock mechanism sounded deep inside of it, and the door popped open.

Dean and Sam shared a look and then pushed through it, dragging Cas with them.

They came out in the light of day and the three of them collapsed, gasping in the clean air onto the grass in front of them. Dean clutched at the greenery, digging his fingers into it, and just reveling in being topside for a long moment, filling his lungs with air that didn't have perpetual hell ash in it.

"Oh god," he groaned. "Sweet terra firma."

"Dean," Sam said and Dean finally forced his eyes open to see his brother sitting up and looking around. "We're in Wyoming. At the hellgate."

Dean looked at the door they had come through and at the surrounding graveyard and realized his brother was right. "Are you kidding me?" he demanded. "That thing could have opened this all that time? And it was closer to Cas." He groaned and lay back down, staring up at the sky.

"But we did it," Sam said, elation and disbelief in his voice. "We actually did it. And we got Cas out!"

Dean forced himself back up and reached out to grab Sam's wrist, squeezing firmly. "We did." He turned to Cas who was lying on the ground between them, eyes closed. Dean frowned, and nudged his shoulder gently as he saw that the angel hadn't stirred. "Cas?"

Sam's face turned concerned and he too turned his attention to the angel. "Cas?"

Dean pressed his fingers to Cas' neck, felt a very weak pulse. He finally looked the angel over and he looked so much worse in the light of day. Not to mention his tortured wings were still visible.

"Dammit, Sammy, we have to get him out of here," Dean muttered, looking around. "Stay with him, I'll go find a car."

He hurried away, his heart in his throat. They had not gone through literal Hell to save Cas just to lose him now.

 


	9. Elysium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elysium
> 
> (The resting place of heroes)

Dean continued to cast furtive looks into the backseat of the car he had, er, borrowed, to get them back to South Dakota and Bobby's house. They had somehow managed to bundle Cas and his wings into the car, and cover him in a blanket so anyone who happened to pass them wouldn't see the blood and, yeah, the freaking angel wings. Not that Dean could blame Cas for that, the poor guy was unconscious, and he was also hurt really bad. Dean was afraid that Cas had hardly any mojo left, which meant that healing was probably going to be a long and painful process.

But at least they had him back now. Dean felt that he could accomplish anything now that they actually had Cas back on earth and safe with them. It didn't matter how long it took him to get better, because he and Sam were going to be there every step of the way. And they were going to make sure that Cas never felt unwanted, or like he was a burden, ever again. It just sucked that it had taken this to make Dean realize just how much the angel meant to him. But he was family, he was Dean's brother, and Dean wasn't going to let him ever think differently. He was going to make sure Cas knew that in every way possible.

"Do you think he's gonna be okay?" Sam asked quietly after a long silence, he too casting continuous glances back at the angel.

"I don't know," Dean said truthfully, swallowing hard. "I mean, what he went through, and not just the torture, the psychological damage that asshat caused him…It's gonna take a while to get him back on his feet."

Sam nodded, swallowing hard. "I know. But we will."

"Damn right we will," Dean said firmly, glancing into the rearview mirror one more time before pressing down on the gas just a little more.

It seemed to take an eternity to get to Bobby's house, but Dean had never been so glad to see the place in his life as he pulled up as close to the house as he could in the stolen car.

"I'm gonna run in and get a bed ready for Cas," Sam said and hurried out of the car.

Dean got out too, his body truly protesting now after the long hours cramped in the car, and opened the back door, looking down at Cas' unconscious form. He was gonna need a hell of a lot of patching up, probably more than Sam and Dean were capable of, but it wasn't like they could drag him to a hospital when he had wings. It was gonna be a long night.

Sam hurried back out and together the brothers maneuvered their friend out of the car, and into Bobby's house to one of the upstairs bedrooms. Sam had stripped the covers off the bed, and laid down towels so it was ready for them to perform their first aid—or, more like field surgery in this case.

At Dean's urging, they lay Cas on his side, letting his wings settle behind him. That way they could also take care of his back.

Dean swallowed hard, again taking in the full extent of Cas' injuries. But he knew they needed to get him taken care of as soon as possible and standing around wasn't going to do any good.

He cleared his throat and turned to Sam. "Okay, why don't you start cleaning him up, and I'll go call Bobby."

Sam gave a tight-lipped nod and went to the bathroom to grab some washcloths and a tub of water.

Dean spared one more glance at Cas, before he went downstairs and grabbed a phone, dialing Bobby's cell.

"What?" Bobby's voice came over the line.

"Hey, it's me," Dean said, sinking into the chair at the desk.

"Dean?" Bobby choked out. "You out?"

"Yeah, we got out," Dean told him and explained what happened and why they weren't in Massachusetts anymore.

"Balls," Bobby muttered. "Well, I guess I have a long drive ahead of me. How's Feathers?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "He's real bad, Bobby. Sam and I are gonna do what we can to patch him up. He's unconscious right now, which is probably a good thing." He sighed. "I think he's mostly human though. He hasn't healed any since we got topside, and he just looks…bad. Like when he was falling."

Bobby grunted sympathetically. "Well, if the angels cast him out, then he probably is cut off again."

"It's my fault," Dean said. "If I hadn't…"

"Dean, this is on all of us," Bobby told him. "You can't put this all on your own head. You're not gonna do Cas any good if you keep that up, so suck it up, and go take care of your friend, idjit."

Dean huffed a short laugh. "Okay, Bobby."

"And I've got an extensive medical kit in the upstairs closet. Even got an IV drip if you need it. Morphine too. No point it letting Cas suffer if he's already in such a bad way."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said sincerely.

"Just hold it together, son. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Bobby ended the call and Dean sat there a moment with his head in his hands. As much as he wanted to just break down right now though, he couldn't leave Sam to do this alone, so he pulled himself together, and stood up, going back upstairs and grabbing Bobby's kit from the closet.

He found Sam dabbing gently at Cas' back, a sick look on his face.

"He's been flogged repeatedly," Sam said quietly. "And some of it…the angles of the lash marks..." He swallowed hard. "I think he did some of it himself."

Bile rose in Dean's throat, but he had to stay strong. "That Samyaza bastard messed with his head, Sam. I wouldn't be surprised."

"This is just so much…" Sam whispered, gesturing helplessly to the ruinous patterns on Cas' skin.

"Hey," Dean reached out and gripped his arm. "We'll do it together. Bobby is on his way, but he left us this med kit here, says it has everything we need. Let's get Cas patched up and as comfortable as possible, okay?"

Sam nodded jerkily and then glanced down at Dean's hands. "Okay. But first you should wash you hands. You still have ash and harpy blood on them."

Dean looked down and grunted. "Be right back."

After he had cleaned up as much as he could for the moment, he went back and started digging through the med kit, pulling out what they would need. He found the morphine and a syringe.

"How much do you think we should give an angel?" Dean asked, half-heartedly.

Sam furrowed his brow. "Well, I don't know how much angel he has left in him," he said grimly. "Stick to a normal dose and then if he still seems to be in pain, we can give him more later."

Dean swallowed hard, and drew up a dose into the syringe, before injecting it into Cas' arm. The angel didn't even stir, and Dean shared a worried look with Sam.

"Well, let's get started," he said, cracking his neck. This was gonna be a long night.

It took them over an hour to clean and care for all of Cas' injuries. His body was literally covered with them. Between the lash marks, the cuts, and the burns, which were particularly nasty, Cas needed a lot of stitching and salving, and by the time they had finished, he was covered from practically his neck to his knees in bandages.

Dean finished it off by finding a pair of loose sweat pants for Cas to wear, putting off the inevitable as long as possible.

"Dean," Sam said finally after they got Cas into the clean clothes. "What are we going to do about his wings?"

Truthfully, Dean had been trying not to look at them, even though they were pretty hard to ignore.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Are they broken?"

"I don't…think so," Sam said hesitantly. "But they are damaged badly. We at least need to clean them up as well as we can."

Dean bit his lip but he nodded. "I'll get some fresh water."

Then he and Sam both took a wing and gently washed the blood and ash from the feathers. Some of the feathers were so badly burned that they had to pull them out, knowing they would only cause Cas more pain, and others were nearly torn out anyway, jutting crooked and painfully out from their original positions.

As they worked though, washing the dull ash from Cas' wings, Dean saw how truly impressive and even beautiful they were, even in such a poor state. His feathers were raven black, shot through with iridescent colors that could only be seen when tilted just right toward the light. It just made Dean angrier that Samyaza had ruined Cas' wings like this. Not only because it had caused his friend pain, but because it just seemed like a tragedy in general.

But the worst were the raw patches of skin that shone through at the arches of Cas' wings, where the rings had been driven through his flesh. The puncture holes were still there, caked with dry blood, and as Dean and Sam worked on flushing these out, Cas finally seemed to register what was going on, and struggled weakly, letting out heart-wrenching whimpering sobs and whispered pleas to stop.

"Almost done, Cas," Sam said gently, sharing a stricken look with Dean as they finished flushing out the last wound and simply left them unbandaged, thinking it would be too hard to bandage the wings anyway.

Once they had finished, they positioned Cas' wings as gently as they could, folded on the mattress. Sam pressed a pillow into the small of Cas' back to keep him from rolling over and then they carefully pulled the towels from under him and covered him in a blanket.

"You should take a shower," Dean said to Sam, trying to fight back the bile in his throat. "Then I can patch you up too."

Sam shook his head. "You go first. I'm just gonna look online a little, see if there's any first aid tips for bird wings."

Dean didn't argue, he simply retreated to the bathroom as quickly as possible and cranked the shower as high as he could. Then he stumbled toward the toilet and finally emptied the contents of his stomach.

He sank to his knees, trembling as he finished throwing up, and hoping the shower had masked the sounds from Sam. He was just finally falling apart. He'd kept it together through Hell, kept it together while caring for Cas, but now he was alone and he didn't have to be strong anymore.

He wiped his mouth, flushed the toilet, and then stripped out of his filthy, ruined clothes. He was going to have to burn them to get the smell of Hell out of them.

As he stood under the scalding spray and the water darkened in the tub below from all the blood and ash on his skin, he finally let the threatening tears come and allowed himself to break.

~~~~~~~

After Dean had felt able to face the world again, and Sam too had gotten a shower to wash Hell off of him, the brothers swiftly and efficiently patched each other up. They were both literally covered in bruises and abrasions, some worse than others. Dean's right side was purple from his busted rib, and the burn on his thigh was worse than he'd thought, almost a third degree. But those were his worst injuries. Sam had long cuts on his back and shoulders, from the harpy attack, and clawmarks on his right shin from the first hellhound attack that Dean had almost forgotten about.

"Well, between the two of us, I think we might just make a whole human," Dean said wryly as he finished suturing a particularly deep cut on Sam's back, and taped some gauze over it.

His brother grunted and pushed himself out of the chair he had been sitting in backwards, grabbing a clean shirt off the back of it, wincing as he pulled it over his head. "Yeah, well, I'd say we were lucky."

"Don't I know it," Dean murmured, glancing over to the bed where Cas was still comatose. Neither of them had left his side, even to patch each other up, even though they could have benefited from a better area to work.

"You want me to take first shift?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "No, get something to eat and then get some rest."

Sam sighed. "Alright, but I'm making you food too."

Dean didn't argue, knowing it would be pointless. His stomach was still messed up, but he knew he needed to get some real food into it.

Sam came back a little later with a sandwich and a fresh bottle of water. Dean eyed him.

"No beer?"

"Once you're hydrated again," Sam informed him firmly.

"Whatever," Dean muttered cracking open the bottle and gulping half of it anyway. Truth be told, what he was really hankering for was a hot cup of coffee. He'd need some if he was gonna stay up with Cas tonight.

"Oh, and coffee's in the pot staying warm," Sam told him as if reading his mind.

"Thanks, little brother," Dean said gratefully. "Now go to bed."

Sam huffed. "Alright. But call me if he wakes up or anything happens." He was at the door before he turned around. "Dean…"

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean muttered, picking at his sandwich, hoping Sam wasn't going to start some kind of conversation he didn't want to get into now.

"What happened back in Hell…I just want you to know that I don't think any differently of you. You did what you had to do. Like Cas."

Dean swallowed down the lump suddenly in his throat. "Sammy, what I did…it wasn't for the greater good. I wasn't myself, I…"

Sam shook his head. "Neither was Cas for a while, with the power of those souls inside of him…point is, Dean, I think you can relate to each other. Hell, so can I when I was on the demon blood. I know Cas doesn't blame us for those things, so…maybe we can use ourselves as examples to help him understand that we can forgive him too?"

Dean watched his friend's unconscious face, still creased in pain even now and then turned to Sam. "Okay, whatever you think will work, we'll try it." He hoped they could get Cas to believe them. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, not after everything he had said and done, but he was going to work at it until Cas felt like he belonged without shame and without guilt. If he had to go to places in his own mind he didn't like to do that, then so be it. It would be worth it in the long run.

"Okay, well, I'm going to bed now. Come get me in a few hours," Sam told him. He turned to leave again, and then glanced once over his shoulder as he paused at the door. "G'night, jerk."

Dean felt one side of his mouth turn up involuntarily. "G'night, bitch."

Sam smiled back and then left.

Dean settled back into the chair he had pulled up to the side of Cas' bed and prepared for the vigil.

Cas was mostly still comatose, but eventually, he seemed to start feeling the pain again, because he began moaning in his sleep, shifting slightly. His eyes were squinted in pain and Dean watched as several tears slipped loose.

He checked the time, and then gave Cas another dose of morphine. It seemed to help a bit, but Cas still had episodes every once in a while, and Dean wondered if they were nightmares.

There wasn't anything he could do about it though, except make sure that Cas was as comfortable as possible, and be there when he woke up so he knew he wasn't in Hell anymore.

Dean shuddered, still unnerved by the whole thing with Cas only being able to leave if he wanted to—that was freaking twisted even for Hell. Dean's time had been more simple: take the pain or serve it. This was something else entirely. But then, it was the angels, and if Dean had learned anything, it was that they were usually a lot worse than demons in so many ways.

Still, the idea that Cas thought he had deserved that punishment, the sight of the backwards lashmarks on his back, and his disbelief at first that Sam and Dean had been there at all…Dean nearly had to run to the bathroom to vomit again. How could he have driven his best friend to think that? If there was any justice in the world, it should have been Dean chained there taking the punishment, not Cas.

"Cas, I'm so sorry," he whispered to the unconscious angel. "I don't know how I'm ever going to make this up to you, but I swear that I will do everything in my power to do that. No matter how long it takes."

Cas' wings trembled slightly, feathers bristling as he moaned again, fighting to find a comfortable position and Dean stood to adjust his pillows and tuck the blanket around him again. It wasn't much, but for the moment that was all he could do.

~~~~~~~

Dean hadn't meant to fall asleep next to Cas' bed, but the truth was, he was just simply exhausted. He didn't wake until the next morning when a creak of the floorboard behind him had him jumping in his chair.

"Easy, son."

Dean groaned and rubbed a hand down his face as he saw it was Bobby. "God, you scared me," he muttered. "When'd you get in?"

"Just now," Bobby said, coming fully into the room and settling a hand on Dean's shoulder as he glanced toward the bed, before squinting, taking a double take. "The hell?"

"Yeah, Cas' wings are physical at the moment," Dean said, and instantly stood to check Cas' pulse, his bandages, fixing his pillows again. The angel seemed pretty much the same as before.

"Well, I'll be dammed," Bobby muttered, shaking his head. "How is he?"

Dean swallowed hard, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know. Sammy and I did what we could, but…he's hurt pretty bad, and we're not sure what to do about his wings. They're not broken or anything, but I get the feeling the fact they look like this goes deeper than just physical damage. You know anything about angel's wings?"

"Not really," Bobby muttered. "But we can see what we can find, I guess. Why don't you get your brother up and come down for breakfast."

Dean glanced back at Cas. "I don't really want to leave him alone."

"He's not gonna wake up anytime soon, Dean," Bobby said firmly. "Even I can tell that."

Dean gnawed his lip, but knew Bobby was right. "Okay."

Bobby's hand descended on the back of his neck. "We'll get him back on his feet, son," he said quietly.

Dean felt his throat tighten. "I know, Bobby, it's just…"

"I know," Bobby nodded, then squeezed Dean's shoulder firmly. "Good to have you boys back."

Dean spared a wan smile. "Yeah."

~~~~~~~

It was three days before Cas woke up. Dean was practically going mad with worry, wondering if Cas had suffered some kind of internal damage, or maybe even damage to his grace, something they couldn't even fix if they wanted to. They spent the time trying to find out anything they could on the care of angels, but came up with nothing, and no real lore on angel's wings in particular either, apart from what they already knew about angel feathers being used in some spells. Sam found out as much as he could about bird care, and they determined that short of having broken wings to split, there was really nothing they could do, and that the ruined feathers would probably come out in the next molt and come back with new ones.

"Do angels even molt?" Dean demanded.

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea."

But on the morning of the third day when Dean was taking his shift, Cas groaned and stirred, eyes fluttering as his head tossed from side to side. Dean was instantly on his feet, leaning over the bed, one hand gently laid over Cas' shoulder to make sure he didn't hurt himself.

"Cas? Hey man, open your eyes, it's okay."

Cas groaned again, and finally blinked his eyes several times before they stayed open, flicking upright to focus on Dean.

Dean offered a smile, trying to encourage Cas not to fall unconscious again. "Hey, buddy, how you feeling?"

Cas just stared at him for a few long seconds. "Dean?" he finally said, his voice gravelly.

"Yep, it's me," Dean said and then grabbed a fresh water bottle he had put by Cas' bed for when he woke. "How about something to drink?"

Cas didn't say anything, but looked eager, running his tongue over a cracked lip, so Dean uncapped the bottle and helped prop the angel's head up so he could sip slowly at the water. That seemed to help Cas get himself together, because he looked around, finally seeming to actually focus on things. "W-where…?"

"We're at Bobby's," Dean told him quietly. "We…we got you out of Hell. Remember?"

Cas' face scrunched up, but he nodded once. "Yes," he whispered. "I remember."

"Okay, good," Dean said, not knowing what else to reply. "Um…I'm gonna leave for just a second to go get Sam, okay? He'll want to know you're awake."

Cas didn't reply, and Dean simply hurried from the room, shouting down the stairs to where Sam was in the kitchen.

"What is it?" Sam replied a second later, running toward the stairs.

"Cas is awake," Dean said quietly.

Sam's eyes widened and he barreled up the stairs, past his brother and into the room. Dean hurried on his heels, hoping his brother wasn't simply going to fall on Cas like a giant puppy and squash him.

"Cas?" Sam called as he came in the room and went to sit on the side of the bed. "Hey, how are you doing?"

Cas squinted up at him. "I am…sore," he said softly.

Sam and Dean shared a look. "Yeah, I bet," Sam said and touched Cas' forearm above the bandage they had wrapped around his torn wrist. "We were worried, you know. You were unconscious for three days."

Cas furrowed his brow. "Sorry."

Dean shook his head. "No need to be sorry, Cas. It's not your fault. We just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Is it alright if we check your wounds?" Sam asked then.

Cas nodded once, though looked too tired to really argue either way, and simply stayed limp as Sam and Dean gently tugged the taped gauze from Cas' wounds and checked them, making sure none of them had gotten infected or anything. They were fine, except for the fact that they still hadn't healed any more than a normal person's would have.

"You seem to be doing okay," Dean told him. "You in pain at all?"

Cas shrugged one shoulder. "I'll be fine," he said softly.

Sam frowned. "Cas, you don't need to suffer through this, we can give you medicine."

Cas closed his eyes and Dean could practically feel the inner struggle going on inside the angel as well as the obvious lines of pain on his face. He swallowed hard and carefully touched Cas' shoulder.

"Cas, it's okay," he said. "You don't have to serve penance, or whatever. It's okay to admit you hurt. We're not gonna think any less of you. And seriously, man, these wounds…they can't feel good."

Cas' chest shuddered with a soundless sob, and he finally opened his eyes again. "Okay, I'll take the medicine."

Dean felt relief wash over him as he nodded to Sam to get the morphine. He smiled at Cas as he saw the angel relax slightly with his decision too.

This was good. This was progress.

~~~~~~~

Of course, it wasn't that easy. It was never that easy.

The days dragged on, and Cas was still bedridden. He only spoke when spoken to, he slept most of the time, and he was drinking and eating. The Winchesters might have pushed the sustenance on him, but he didn't refuse it either, so Dean knew he must need it, even if he only ate a little at a time.

That left them with only one conclusion. He was—apart from the wings—for all intents and purposes, human.

But Cas seemed to withdraw into himself more and more as the days progressed. Sam and Dean shared worried looks, but there was nothing much they could do. They tried to engage Cas in conversations, but he wouldn't answer with more than monosyllabic replies if he could help it.

Dean knew he should do something, intervene, but he just didn't know what he could say that would actually help Cas. He was afraid anything he said would simply make it worse.

Then one day, it all came to a head.

Cas was sitting up in bed, his wings folded and resting on the pillows behind him, as Dean removed the stitches that they'd had to use to close some of the worst wounds.

Sam was readying fresh gauze with cream for the worst of the burns, when he commented, "Some of these are still pretty bad, Cas."

A dark look crossed Cas' face before he schooled his features. "I will heal eventually, you know," he said curtly.

Dean glanced up at him. "Yeah, we know, buddy. It's okay."

"No, it's not," Cas suddenly snapped, and both brothers stopped what they were doing to look at him in surprise. Cas had his hands fisted into the blankets draped over his lap. "It's not okay that I'm powerless, it's not okay that I'm worthless. It's not okay, that I'm a… a burden." He glanced aside, throat bobbing. "As soon as I heal, I'll leave. I promise. I'll find somewhere else to go."

"Whoa, pump the brakes," Dean told him, holding up a hand as Sam too watched with an open mouth. "Where the hell is all this coming from?"

Cas looked down at his lap, refusing to look at either brother. His hands still gripped the sheets and his jaw clenched. "I'm no good to you. I'm just gonna…ruin everything."

"Cas, why would you say that?" Sam asked as gently as possible, sitting on the side of the bed.

"Because I always do," Cas said simply. "I thank you for pulling me out of Hell, but I don't belong here. It's not…fair…that I stay and ruin your lives."

"Cas, you're not ruining our lives," Dean said firmly, disbelief in his voice. How the hell could Cas think that after the time they'd spent getting him back and caring for him, watching over him all this time?

The angel shook his head, obviously distressed. "But I saw you. I saw how you were when I was gone."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked.

Cas' face crumpled. "When I was in Hell, Samyaza showed me what you were doing. I saw you. You were happy…" he glanced between them. "It won't be that way now. Not anymore."

Dean and Sam shared a wide-eyed look.

"Cas, that bastard was lying to you," Dean told him firmly.

"Why should he have?" Cas asked bitterly.

"Because he's a dick," Dean said angrily.

Sam cut in, giving his brother a look. "Cas, you were only gone about a week our time before we went to Hell to find you."

"But why would he lie?" Cas demanded.

"To get in your head," Dean told him. "I heard him back there, he was bitter. I don't know why, but he had his own issues that he was forcing onto you. But I do know one thing, Cas, and that is we were certainly not glad you were gone." Dean swallowed hard, clenching his trembling fists at his sides. "I mourned you, you know. We all did. We were not happy, we were not unburdened, we were friggen' devastated because we thought you were dead."

Cas looked at him, slight disbelief on his face. "Then why did you look for me in Hell?"

"Because I started having nightmares about that bastard torturing you," Dean told him. "And every time I woke up, this scar was burning. That's how I found you, through some kind of connection or whatever because of the scar you gave me pulling me out of Hell. So you know what, Cas? I think deep down, somewhere in your subconscious, you were calling for help the whole time. You knew you weren't supposed to be there, you knew you wanted to come home."

Cas' face crumpled, and he took a shuddering breath. "But how did you know I was alive? You risked everything. Why did you come?"

"You think I could have lived the rest of my life dreaming about you in Hell every night?" Dean demanded, voice shaking. "Cas, no matter what bad blood might have been between us, I would never have left you to that. Ever. You're still my friend, man. There was no way I could live with that."

Cas nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I see now. You did it out of guilt," he said blandly.

Sam shot Dean a look and the older Winchester felt something inside him break. "No, Cas! I didn't! I came because I needed you back. Because you're part of this family, you idiot! I wanted you to come home! So no talk about leaving!"

Cas shook his head, emotions roiling in his eyes. "I can't," he choked out.

"Why?" Dean demanded.

"Because," Cas forced out, voice shaking. "I can't stay unless I know I have a place here."

"Of course you do," Sam told him.

"I mean really," Cas gritted out, shame flooding his features, but determination too. "I am cast out of Heaven, I have no where to go. If you are truly serious about inviting me into your family then I will stay but if not…" He took a shuddering breath. "If not I…I just can't…"

Dean felt something break inside of him. "Ah, dammit, Cas," he groaned and sat on the side of the bed, reaching out to take Cas' shoulders, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Listen to me, and listen good, because I'm only gonna say this once. I don't hand out the family card lightly, you know that. But I meant everything I said back in Hell, that was not just some lies I made up to get you out of there. Cas, I have lost too damn many people that I cared about. Too many people I called family. I know you know what that feels like. But I want you to join this family, I want you to be my brother, I want you to be my equal. Not someone I call on just when I need help, not someone I demand stuff from when I'm too lazy to get off my own ass to do the hard things. I want you to drink with us, I want you to eat dinner with us, I want you to watch movies with us. Hell, I wanna teach you to drive and how to fix a car, and how to pick up a girl. This, right now," he pointed between the three of them. "This is a new beginning. We've all been to Hell, we've all gotten each other out, we've been through too damn much to ruin the bond we have. Long story short, Cas, I've been a shitty friend, but I hope you'll let me try to be a better brother to you."

Cas looked at him, then Sam, eyes shining. "You really mean that?" he asked in a strangled, hopeful voice.

"Hell yes," Dean told him. He glanced at Sam who nodded, eyes welling with tears. Dean felt tears welling in his own eyes and pulled Cas into a firm embrace, so he wouldn't see them, careful of the angel's wings. "Welcome home, brother," he whispered.

He felt Cas' breath hitch, and then the angel's arms tentatively wrapped around Dean's back. Dean then felt Sam's hand fist in the back on his shirt as his little brother joined the embrace as well. Cas' wings twitched and, though injured, curled around the Winchesters, as if wrapping them in a second embrace.

It was a long time before they pulled back and Dean wiped his eyes roughly on the back of his hand. "Okay. Officially enough chick flick moments for the century."

Sam huffed a laugh and even Cas was smiling, eyes wet, but filled with joy.

"Look Cas," Dean said. "I'm not pretending this is gonna always be easy, but that's family. As long as we remember that, I think we'll be able to get through anything."

Cas nodded. "Yes. And…I look forward to starting this new family with the two of you."

Dean grinned and stood up again. "Okay, well, the first thing we're gonna do is get you out of this room. You need a change of scene, and we need to get you some pop culture. So, I'm gonna set up the couch, see if we can make room for your wings, movie's in fifteen. Your choice: Star Wars or Indiana Jones. Sam, make the popcorn."

Sure, they knew it wasn't going to be a smooth trail. Cas was still messed up emotionally and physically, but so where they all. Dean's nightmares of hell had only been reawakened by the trip downstairs, and Sam had a wall in his head that could still crumble if the right kind of pressure was applied. But it was the fact that they were all equally broken that meant they were better equipped to hold each other up.

Because sometimes, it wasn't about all the missing pieces that you had to patch up with ever-weakening materials. It was about the fact that when you and the people you loved put together all the pieces you had, and shared the burden, sometimes you could simply be whole together, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading this story! There will be a sequel to it coming soon called "The Thing With Feathers" =)


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